Nothing But Blue Sky
by Mistress Scribbles
Summary: When the voices in the radio start telling you you're actually a robot in the future, stuck in a programme that will soon kill you, you're usually too worried that you're going mad to consider the possibility that it could be the truth. Adult language
1. Chapter 1

Nothing But Blue Sky

-x-

_Thanks to those who've given me reviews for 'Harmonica' - it's spurred me on to put some real effort into this longer, more involved story._

_This is inspired by several episodes of the show itself, as well as a lot of other sources - Philip K Dick, The Matrix, the Red Dwarf 'Better Than Life' episode & novelisation and a hefty chunk of Life On Mars' Freaky-Deaky Paranoia. The odd behaviour of the two main characters here will be explained in time, I promise!_

_Oh, and in case you're interested, the patented 'Not Listening Song' in Chapter 6 is to the tune of 'La Donna e Mobile' from Rigoletto._

_ Enjoy!_

_Scribbles_

-x-

1 - Bright, Sunshiny Day

-x-

The sun was shining. It was a beautiful day. It was always a beautiful day. He turned on the radio as he padded around the kitchen in the bright morning sunshine, wondering whether to make instant or filter coffee.

The blinking light on the answer machine caught his attention. With a brief glance skyward he pressed 'play'.

'God Dammit.'

As the machine's tape rewound, he fished a hastily dumped bowl, still half full of corn flakes, out of the sink and scraped the contents into the bin.

'One of these days, I swear to God…'

He put the empty bowl into the dishwasher and began to pour coffee into the filter. The answer machine let out a loud beep to herald the start of its messages.

'It's me,' said the machine, tinnily. 'You remember who I am, don't you?'

'How could I forget?' he told the unhearing device, scratching at the 24-hour's worth of stubble on his chin.

'You remember your old life?' The machine added, 'back with us? Please. You have to remember.'

'Not again,' he begged the ceiling with an affected boredom.

'You don't belong here,' the machine continued. 'You must know that. You really don't. The place where you are right now… it's all fake, you understand that, don't you?'

'Blah, blah, blah…' he yawned.

'We need you here,' added the machine. 'We need you both to come back. You have to come back home.'

'Do I really.'

'Please. Come back home.'

'Noooothankyouverymuch.' He jabbed at the fast forward button and the voice on the machine turned into an illegible squeak. 'Take the frigging hint, why don't you?'

He started to pour out his coffee. The machine bleeped again.

'Sorry to bother you on your day off, Doctor,' said another voice, 'but you asked me to remind you about your interview with the Mercury this morning.'

'Little more like it.' He added two sugars and a large splash of cream to the coffee.

'Oh, and the Institute called for you again, Doctor,' apologised the second voice. 'I know you said that you weren't taking their calls, but they were most insistent that I at least pass on the message that…'

'Oh, piss off!'

He hit delete.

'God, but I hate these fucking machines.'

He picked up his coffee and wandered out into the large living room. Unlike the rest of the apartment, the room was plunged into an unnatural gloom. The only lit figure was that of his flatmate, bathed in blue as he sat engrossed at the computer screen.

'Morning,' he greeted the other man.

'Hmm?' Was his only response.

'Please God tell me you haven't been at that thing all night.'

'Don't worry.' His friend didn't look up from the screen. 'Woke up about an hour ago. Couldn't get back to sleep.'

'Another headache?' He asked.

'Come to mention it.'

'You woke up with another of your headaches,' he clarified, 'and so you decided the best course of action would be to sit yourself a few inches away from a flickering VDU for the rest of the morning? Wow.' He slumped lazily into his favourite chair. 'That has to be your most ingenious plan to date. Really, it has.'

His roommate grinned but didn't respond.

'I mean, didn't you promise you'd speak to a doctor about all this?'

'I _am_ speaking to a doctor,' his roommate replied without taking his eyes from the screen.

'A proper doctor, dummy.'

The young man finally looked up to meet eyes with him. 'I'll take time out to see a Quack the day you do.'

'Oh, come on!' He took a sip of coffee. 'I'm just not sleeping well lately, that's all. You have epilepsy.'

'You have stupid-lepsy.'

He quirked an eyebrow. 'Wildean. Seriously, I mean it. You got a serious condition there. I don't want you to go into another fit like the other day. If you upped and died on me, who would cook dinner?'

His flatmate went back to the screen. 'I'll bequeath you my recipe book.'

'Wouldn't be the same. You know I can't follow simple instructions.' He slurped at the coffee again. 'I'd end up starving to death, or live off Chinese takeout and have to be lifted out of here in a crane. So how's about you turn off that damn machine and stay alive another day, huh?'

The other man gave him an arch glance. 'You're not gonna ask what it is I've found on here that's gotten me engrossed to the point of risking my life and your dinner?'

He shrugged. 'I can take an educated guess that it's either a sudden dramatic breakthrough in the dizzyingly exciting world of Cybernetic Technology, or…'

His friend turned the computer's VDU round a little so that he could see the image that he had pulled up on it. A petite, caramel skinned young woman filled the screen, perching coquettishly on an office chair in a crisp skirt suit and beaming with full, over made-up lips and Hollywood Teeth.

'Whaddaya think?' The young man at the computer grinned with an enthusiasm that could easily match the pixellated girl on screen's.

He shook his head, biting down a smile of his own. 'I think you're pathetic, that's what I think.'

His friend raised his eyebrows innocently. 'I'll have you know this is very important research.'

'Really.'

His flatmate pointed at the logo nestled in the corner of the image. 'The Mercury's Website. This little lady is none other than Stella Munro.'

'Stella Munro?' He squinted and frowned at the image on screen. 'As in,_the_ Stella Munro?'

His roommate nodded. 'Figured if we were giving her an interview we might as well take a look at her credentials first.' He sighed, and leaned in a little to the screen. 'And what credentials…'

'Isn't she a little young to be a Technology Editor?'

'Aren't_we_ a little young to be Cybernetics experts?' Retorted his friend. 'We're perfectly matched.' He sat back again and contemplated the vision in front of him. 'I think I'm going to have to Woo her,' he announced.

'"Woo"?' He snorted a laugh, inhaling a little coffee as he did so, causing him to splutter gracelessly.

'Sure, why not?'

'You're going to try to seduce our interviewer? You have got such a one track mind.'

'You're just jealous because your hands are tied.'

'No, I'm saying there's a time and a place…'

'Aw, come on!' His roommate pointed at the woman on screen. 'To fail to appreciate a Hot Tomato like that…? You'd have to be… I don't know. Blind. Or a robot, or somethin'…'

'OK,' he conceded. 'She's a beautiful girl. Happy now?' He stalled. 'Just never, ever let Mary know I said that, or she will murder me. Slowly and horribly. And then my ghost is going to come back and haunt your womanising ass, so help me…'

'My lips are sealed,' smiled his friend.

They fell into lengthy, comfortable lull in conversation.

He yawned and scratched his head, finished his coffee, got up, stretched and yawned again. 'Jesus, why can't I wake up this morning?' He turned back towards the bright kitchen. 'Need more caffeine. You?'

'Not with this headache,' called his flatmate from behind him.

'Get off the fucking computer!'

'In a minute…' His friend's voice faded and was replaced by the blaring radio's noise as he entered the kitchen.

Sleepy as he was, the sunshine streaming through the large kitchen windows injected him with newfound energy. He mouthed along with the song as he poured a second large cup of coffee.

'Here is that rainbow I've been prayin' for…'

He reached into the fridge for more cream.

'S'gonna be a bright, bright sunshiny day…'

Merrily, he span on his heel to dance back to the coffee cup.

There was a brief moment of static interference on the radio.

'Look all around, there's nothing but blue sky…'

'Come on!'

He almost dropped the cup. It was the same voice! The same voice that had left the answerphone message entreating him to go back to the Institute. He darted a frightened glance towards the radio. 'What the…?'

'Come on. Snap out of it! Come back!'

What the Hell was it doing on the _radio_? How had it got there? He gave the radio a tentative punch.

'Look straight ahead,' reasserted the song, 'nothing but…'

'Any luck?' whispered a second voice through static.

'…Blue Sky….'

'It's no good.' The first voice was barely a breath in the static now, and breaking up. '…both comp… matose. Either… can't hear… chosen not… don't know… long…'

He punched the radio again, and this time the static completely disappeared.

'You OK?' His roommate appeared behind him. 'Look like you've seen a ghost.'

He stared at the radio for a moment longer, then shook his head briskly.

'I'm fine. Still half asleep, that's all. Mind playing tricks on me.'

'Sure.' The young man patted him on the shoulder. 'I'm gonna take a shower. See if it can clear this bad head.'

''Kay.' Still he frowned at the chirruping radio. 'But if it's still no better tomorrow I'm dragging you into the doctor's myself.'

His friend rolled his eyes as he left the kitchen. 'You worry too much, Data.'

'Indulge me, Geordi.' With an expression of deep, abiding mistrust, he reached over to the radio and switched it off quickly, as though it were burning hot. 'I'm only human.'


	2. Chapter 2

2 – Human Interest

-x-

Data gave the café waitress a brief, polite smile as she brought out another espresso.

Geordi cast his friend a sideways glance. 'What is up with you today?'

'Eat your headache pills,' Data muttered from the corner of his mouth.

Geordi wasn't paying attention. Instead, he smiled warmly at the young journalist sat opposite them, gathering her notes together.

'Mind if I ask you a question, Miss Munro?'

Stella Munro looked up at him through her eyelashes. 'Hate to break it to you, Mr LaForge, but that's not really the way interviews work. I'm the one that's supposed to ask the questions.'

'Off the record,' Geordi clarified. 'I'm just curious about something.'

'Shoot.'

'Why are you stuck at a newspaper? Pretty lady like you, I bet the TV Stations would just lap you up.'

Stella smiled curtly. 'Can you really picture someone like me doing serious Technology Pieces on the TV, Mr LaForge?' She readied her notebook. 'If I were to go over to the Dark Side I'd end up next to some grizzly old anchorman every lunchtime asking inane C Listers about their diets and what their favourite colours are.'

'Masterfully Wooed,' Data breathed to his friend. 'She's swooning already.'

'So, listen,' continued Stella. 'Before we start this interview I'd better go over what sort of thing we're looking at. It's not so much what you're actually working on that we want to know about today…'

'…which you know we can't talk about anyway…' added Data.

'…instead,' continued Stella unabashed, 'my Editor thinks it'd be an idea to concentrate more on the men behind the ideas. More of a human-interest piece. What you guys are like, what makes you tick, uh…'

'What our favourite colours are…?' interjected Geordi with a grin. 'Mine's blue, by the way.'

Stella just pursed her lips at him, her pen hovering over her pad.

'Bee-ell-you-ee,' helped Geordi.

Stella blanked Geordi and turned instead to the older man. 'Dr Soong…'

'Everybody just calls me Data.'

Stella nodded in understanding. 'You two not only work together, you live together too? Doesn't that start to grate, living in each other's pockets all the time?'

Data shook his head. 'We're used to it. Doesn't bother us. We're pretty much joined at the brain anyway. It saves time, saves money… we both like the same kind of milk…'

'Semi Skimmed…' interjected Geordi.

'See?' Data added, deadpan, 'it's Kismet.'

Stella referred to her notes briefly. 'So, you two started off working together at the Picard Institute…' She looked back up at them. 'In La Belle France, no less. Tres Jolie. But then you both just decided to up sticks, come all the way over here by yourselves and start working independently, from scratch. No contacts, no funding… if you don't mind me asking such a blunt question, what the Hell possessed you guys to do something as crazy as that?'

Geordi leaned back in his chair. 'I wanted to see the sun setting over the Pacific.'

Data took a deep breath. 'I just wanted… I don't know… a simpler life.'

'In Los Angeles?' Stella arched an eyebrow. 'Good luck with that. But I bet the Institute weren't happy to just let two of its best names go, just like that.'

'Um…' Data tried to interject.

'Come on,' Stella goaded, 'I bet they're still begging to have you back.'

Geordi exchanged glances with his friend. 'We'd rather not talk about that right now, Stella. The Institute's kind of a… uh…'

'Touchy issue,' finished Data. 'At the moment.'

Stella held her hands up genially. 'Fine. Fine. Consider the matter dropped. Complete change of subject… um…' she shrugged, wracking her brain. '…I know. Your favourite gadgets. I'm betting you pair get seriously geeky over all the latest gizmo's, right?'

'Well, _I_ do, at least' Geordi replied. 'Data's a Luddite. He'd happily un-invent the Spinning Jenny if he could.'

'You're kidding.'

'I don't get on well with machinery,' Data told his espresso cup.

'How the Hell does that work in advanced Cybernetics?' Stella asked.

'I don't actually work with the damn machines,' Data replied. 'Geordi does all that. I do all the theory. All the math.'

'Hence the nickname…?' Stella hazarded.

'I'm the head,' Data continued, 'he's the hands. I bring the vision, he brings the body.'

'And so between the two of us,' Geordi added, 'we lick the platter clean.'

Stella smiled, scribbling on her pad. 'That's really interesting. You know, you're almost symbiotic. Dare I ask what girlfriends make of this relationship?'

Geordi rested his hands behind his head. 'I was wondering how long it would be before you mentioned The Ladies.'

Stella conceded a smile. 'Any special somebody in your life then, Mr LaForge?'

'Not yet,' grinned Geordi in return, 'but I have to say I'm interested in seeing how this brunch turns out.'

'This isn't a date.'

'Isn't it? You're here, I'm here, there's a selection of pastries and a carnation on the table…'

'…and Dr Soong, of course…' Stella added.

'Don't mind me,' Data added, reaching for the butter. 'I handed my dance card in a good long time ago.'

'Oh?' Stella put pen to paper again. 'Another Significant Other? Who is it? A Lab Assistant? A fellow Scientific Genius?'

'A cop,' Data told Stella, matter-of-factly. 'Mary McKinley. Stopped me for running a red a few months back. Tried to sweet talk her the second I laid eyes on her, which she didn't take kindly to.' He developed a vague, far-away look as he savoured the memory. 'I never could resist being frisked by a terrifying, beautiful blonde. Rest is history.' His jacket pocket started to chirp as he finished his sentence. 'Scuse me.' He reached inside and retrieved a battered brick of a mobile phone. He checked the message on screen and smiled. 'Speaking of which…'

'Officer McK come off duty?' Geordi asked.

Data got to his feet. 'Sorry to cut my part of the interview short, Miss Munro, but I said I'd meet up with her after her shift, and you know what women are like, being one and all.'

'I understand.' Stella crossed her legs. 'I'm sure Mr LaForge can do all the talking for the both of you…'

Geordi shrugged. 'Sure. I got no plans. You got me all day if you want me. Hell, I bet I could even stretch to dinner time.'

Stella pursed her lips again. 'Are you asking me out to dinner…?'

'Bye, kids.' Data dug his hands in his pockets and walked away from the table. He turned in the direction of the Police Station, walking past a busker singing along to a CD of backing music. The CD jogged as he stepped in front of it, filling the air with a jarring, endlessly repeating single chord.

'…working on ways we can access the programme from the Holodeck,' said a voice from the CD Player, beneath the chord.

He stopped in his tracks, glaring at the machine.

'Agreed,' added the female voice from the answerphone. 'If we can interact with them it'll give us a much better chance of…'

'Hush,' breathed another female voice. 'Wait.'

Data took a step back from the busker's defective player.

'What is it?' asked the first voice.

'He's right on the surface. He's listening to us.'

Data began backing away from the CD Player at speed.

'Data…?' Asked a fourth voice.

He turned, and ran.

'No,' he heard the second female voice say as it faded fast. 'He's gone again.'

-x-

As was his custom, he travelled the length of Mary's small kitchen by taking a short run-up and then sliding across the linoleum in his socks, crashing into the counter.

'Mind my groceries!' called Mary's warning voice as she locked the door behind her. 'If you crush my eggs I'll kick your ass.'

He took the egg carton out of the grocery bag he'd been carrying and inspected the contents. 'They're fine.'

He held them out for the young policewoman to see.

'Hmm,' grunted Mary, taking the food bag out of his arms. 'Why can't you just walk from one end of the kitchen to the other like a normal person?'

'Because it's fun, Officer.'

Mary sighed as she loaded the fridge. 'Small pleasures for simple minds…'

'Is it OK to have fun in a kitchen of the law, Officer?'

Mary glanced over her shoulder at him with a small smile. 'Only if you stop calling me Officer.'

'Can't help it. It's the uniform.' He lounged against the counter, watching her put her fridge in order. 'I've warned you before about the uniform. Every time I see you I get the overwhelming urge to… salute.'

She turned to face him. 'Well then I suppose my only option is to take it off.' She narrowed her eyes at his hopeful expression. 'And put something else on,' she added.

'That's not fair.'

'Tough luck.'

'Hey, I just left Geordi alone with a beautiful Science & Technology journalist who was hanging off my every word, in order to spend time with you. You could at least walk around in your bra or something…'

Mary span around, slamming her hand against the wall just above his shoulder with a semi-serious aggression. 'Why are you being such a Dick?'

'My God, you're pretty when you're pissed off.'

'Stop being glib. The last few days you've had the mood swings of a teenage girl. You've been going from giddy to grumpy to… I don't know what at the blink of an eye, and you've constantly been spoiling for fights…'

'Have not.'

'Data, be straight with me for once,' she warned. She pushed away from him, seriously. 'Are you still not sleeping?'

Data sighed and followed her into her bedroom. 'It's like I said before, I'm getting plenty of sleep. Eight… nine… ten hours. I'm still tired all the time.'

'Still getting those dreams?'

He nodded. 'That's probably normal though, right? I mean, it must be natural for a guy to worry when his girlfriend does such a dangerous job… maybe not to the extent of seeing her get killed every night…'

'It's every night now?'

He nodded.

'Is that all that's bugging you?'

'Yeah…' He faltered under her gaze. 'No.' He sat down on the end of her bed as she pulled a T-Shirt and jeans out of her dressing table. 'Mary, I'm worried.'

'You're often worried.'

'No. I'm _really_ worried. I've… I've started Hearing Things.'

She stopped, her shirt still half unbuttoned, and looked down at him. 'What sort of things?'

'Voices… in the radio.'

'Yeah, those are called DJs.'

'Voices that aren't supposed to be there,' Data clarified. 'Voices I… I feel I should recognise.'

'Such as?'

'OK, there's this woman who keeps calling from the Institute back in France. Calls pretty much every day, trying to get me and Geordi to go back there, like a stuck record…'

'And it's her voice you're hearing in the radio?' Mary asked.

'Mainly. There are others too.' Data frowned. 'I think they could have been from the Institute as well. I think I even heard Picard in there.' He rubbed his face. 'God, I think I might be starting to go nuts.'

Mary sat down next to him on the bed, running her fingernails over the nape of his neck. 'You have been working very, very hard, Dr Soong, slaving over a hot circuit board doing smart things I can't even begin to contemplate in order to ensure that in ten year's time no family in America will be without its own Robot Monkey Butler or some equally crucial task. And that damn Frenchman and his cronies have been pestering you constantly to go back to working for him pretty much since you got here – no wonder you're starting to feel like their voices are coming out of the walls.' She rested his head on her shoulder. 'As for the nightmares… I've been a cop for a long time now. I know what I'm doing. It's much safer for me out on the streets with my training and my gun and whatnot than any other girl, you know. But I'm actually very touched that you care so much. It's sweet.'

'You're right. It _is_ sweet.' He reached up and toyed with one of the buttons on her half-undone shirt. 'I am so adorable. How do you keep your hands off me?'

She watched as, one-handed, he undid two of her remaining shirt buttons. 'I thought you were tired.'

'I'm not _that_ tired.'

'You know, I've just finished a really tough night shift…'

She barely resisted as he pulled at the warm flesh beneath her ribs, using his body weight to tug them both down into a louche sprawl on the mattress. 'Then come to bed.'


	3. Chapter 3

3 – The Big Guy

-x-

Mary's next duty shift wasn't until the next morning. Under orders from his girlfriend – not that he needed any persuading – Data spent the day at her small apartment doing very little indeed, and took an early night alongside her. The nightmares still came for him, but he found great comfort on waking from them to be able to lay his hand on the hot, shifting ribs of the woman he had just seen die, feel her slow, regular breaths and the pulse of her blood deep beneath her skin. It wasn't until gone 10 the next morning that he set off back towards his own home. The sun was glorious yet again, beating down cheerfully from a cloudless blue sky. He was certainly in no hurry so he decided to make the hour-long journey by foot. He breathed deep, trying to ignore the fatigue that still plagued him and studiously avoiding any radios, CD Players or speakers in general.

His heart sank, however, when, ten minutes away from his building, somebody started to shout his name. He tried to pretend not to hear it for a few seconds. It was only on the sixth call, followed by a highly irritated 'You deaf or somethin'?' that he recognised the voice calling him and turned.

Geordi cocked a glance of mild irritation at him as he approached.

'Sorry, Geordi. I was miles away.'

'Still got the insomnia?'

'Still got the headaches?' Data didn't expect a reply to that one, which was handy since Geordi didn't give one. Data decided to change the subject matter to one that his friend would be much happier to talk about. 'How did it go with the journalist?'

'The lovely Stella, you mean.'

'Yes. The lovely Stella.'

Geordi shrugged. 'You know… the brunch was good… turned into lunch, which turned into dinner…'

Data rolled his eyes. He might have known. 'Which turned into coffee…'

'…Which turned into breakfast,' finished Geordi. 'Just been walking her home.'

'And they say the age of Chivalry's dead.'

'Just because you're dead from the waist down…'

'It's called Monogamy, Geordi. Look it up some time.'

Geordi grinned. 'That's a kinda wood, isn't it?'

'Haven't you ever been in love?'

'Only all the time. My trouble is, I believe in love at first sight, and I see a Hell of a lot of lovely girls.' Geordi caught sight of his friend's expression. 'You're just jealous cause I have more sex than you.'

'Fuck off. You have to go out and find sex. I've got it on tap.'

'Come on. You two are at the seven-month itch period. I bet you guys spent all last night re-tiling the bathroom or something.'

They cut across the small green that their building overlooked together.

'Listen, Geordi. Maybe I was ordering the set menu while you went to the buffet, but we still both had dinner last night. Some of us had lunch_and_ dinner.'

'Some of us had double helpings.'

'Some of us had dessert.'

Geordi wrinkled his nose. 'Are we still talking about sex?'

'I have no idea. But it's made me hungry.'

They both laughed a little. Their shadows were behind them and the grass on which they walked was too soft and springy to make any audible footsteps, so neither of them noticed the person coming up behind them until he put a large, strong hand on each of their shoulders and leaned in close between them.

'Do not struggle,' growled the intruder, softly.

Data's breath caught in the back of his throat. He could feel that, at his side, Geordi had turned rigid and silent with shock.

'Oh shit,' was all he was able to say, in a frightened squeak.

'Stay calm,' added the stranger, 'make no sudden movements.'

'OK,' Geordi whispered. 'Whatever you say.'

The stranger behind them began to guide both of them off the green, towards a shadowy side street. 'Over here.'

'Oh God Oh God Oh God…' Data repeated his panicked mantra as they were both manhandled into the alley.

Once they were in the shadows the stranger stopped them and turned them around to face him.

He was big. Very big. His wide shoulders almost entirely blocked the alley, and he stood a good head higher than Data. He was dressed far too warmly for the hot Californian morning, with a large, grey hood pulled up over his head and much of his brow. Data couldn't see any weapon in the burly Black man's hands – not that that mattered, Data was fairly certain that this giant would almost definitely be able to hold up perfectly well against the both of them even unarmed.

'Oh God,' he breathed, 'what do I do, what do I do…?'

With one hand held aloft in surrender, Geordi dipped the other slowly into his jeans pocket. 'Give the man your wallet, Data.'

Panicked, Data fumbled for his wallet.

'Nice and easy.' Geordi took the wallet out of Data's shaking hand and offered them both to the Big Guy. 'Take them, and we'll be on our way. Nobody has to get hurt.'

The big man stared at the wallets for a moment, confused.

'Here,' Geordi entreated. 'We don't want any trouble.'

The Big Guy took the wallets slowly, and opened one. 'Money?' He scowled down at them. 'Why do you think I want money?'

'We don't have any drugs, I'm sorry,' Geordi continued as calmly as he could muster, 'money's all we've got.'

'So it's true. You do not know,' the Big Guy sighed. 'You have no recollection – neither of you.'

'Wha…?'

'You have to come with me.'

'What?' Geordi's collected façade was beginning to crack. 'I don't think we want to…'

The Big Guy took a step towards them. As one, the two friends stepped back away from him. 'No, you do not want to. That is the trouble.'

Geordi stepped back again. 'Oh Holy Shit.' He turned. 'Data, run!'

Data tried to run, but the Big Guy was faster. He lashed out a hand that curled tightly around Data's elbow, pulling him back. Fear and instinct leapt up in Data suddenly, along with the smell of adrenaline in the back of his nose. He span around, twisting into his attacker like a struggling cat, mouth open, teeth bared.

He bit him.

The Big Guy let out a howl of pain and surprise, and his grip on Data's elbow loosened enough for him to be able to wriggle free. He ran. He caught up with Geordi quickly and they both sprinted together out of the narrow alley, into the street, thrumming with people and sunshine. Still they didn't slow, or even check behind them to see if they were still being pursued. It was a good ten minutes before Geordi finally came to a panting, trembling halt. Data stopped too, nervously edging around his doubled-up friend, checking the crowds of pedestrians for any signs of the hooded stranger.

'I think we're safe. I don't think he followed us…'

'My God,' Geordi puffed, 'How are you not out of breath?'

'Not the best time, Geordi,' snapped Data… although now his friend came to mention it he did suddenly feel very breathless, not to mention, extremely tired. 'Who the Hell _was_ that freak?'

'He seemed familiar.' Geordi sank down to his knees, still gasping. 'Like… like Deja-Vu, or…'

'Me too,' Data worried. 'You don't think… You don't suppose he was from the Institute?'

'Why would the Institute be sending Heavies?' Geordi rubbed his forehead.

'I don't know. Maybe Picard's decided to up the game.'

'That's pretty paranoid thinking, even for you.'

'I can't believe I bit him,' Data continued. He turned to his friend, who was now completely crumpled on the ground, clutching his head with both hands. 'Are you all right?'

'My head,' Geordi gasped. 'It's agony. God, everything's so bright…'

'That does it. I'm taking you to hospital.' Data stooped to help the young man up to his feet.

'Data.'

Data shot to his feet again, where he froze. It was the Big Guy again, right slap-bang in front of them out of nowhere. There were a couple of spots of blood on the shoulder of his sweater where Data had bitten him, but the hooded stranger didn't clutch at the wound or show any signs of being in pain. He did not, however, look at all happy.

'How the Hell did you do that?' was the first question Data gave voice to, followed instantly by his second, more worrying thought. 'And how do you know my name?'

'You must do as I say,' the stranger told him. 'Time is running short.'

'We gave you all our money,' continued Data, the same primal rage that had driven him to bite the man again overtaking his fear. 'What do you want from us?'

'I want you to come with me. I have something to show you.'

Data didn't budge. 'Picard sent you, didn't he?'

The stranger's eyes lit up. 'Picard. You remember Picard?'

'I knew it. Why can't he leave us alone?' His furze of anger was making Data feel even hotter, as though the sun above was increasing its intensity. On the ground, Geordi swore softly in pain.

'Just get the Hell out of my way,' Data continued. 'My friend seriously needs a Doctor, thanks to you scaring him like that. If he dies, it'll be all your fault.'

The man shook his head, firmly. 'No, Data. LaForge does indeed need urgent medical attention. But if he does die, it will be _your_ fault.'

Data's fists bunched. Above him, the sun seemed to grow even brighter. 'Is that a threat?'

'No. It is a warning.'

Data found himself groping for the nearest available makeshift weapon. His hands caught a metal bar and he lifted it, brandishing it at the stranger.

'Well, I've got a warning for you! Get the Hell out of my sight. Go on! You can go back to that French bastard, and you tell him his little scare tactics aren't going to work. We are not leaving this place!'

The sun was right in his eyes, turning the whole world a bright orange-red. On the ground somewhere, Geordi started to cry out from the pain.

'Do you even know what this place is?'

'It's our home. We're happy here!'

'It is not what you think it is. It is a programme, Data. A fantasy, set deep in the past. It is not real!'

'Well, of course! That makes perfect sense!' Although a part of his brain was telling him that it certainly wasn't the time or the place for sarcasm, his mouth carried on talking anyway. 'A computer programme. Who's running it, then? Secret Military Project? Communist Conspiracy? Little Green Men?'

'You are.'

'Oh no,' said a female voice very far away.

The sky seemed to be practically white with light. The air suddenly filled with a loud, piercing buzz, at an unbearably high pitch, like an omnipresent tinnitus. Geordi stared to scream. Data took a lunging step towards the stranger, who was now grasping at his ears and grunting in discomfort.

'You are running the programme, Data,' managed the Big Guy.

'Get out! Get out! Get! Out!'

'He's crashing,' said the distant woman's voice, 'get out of there…'

The world flickered for a moment, and the Big Guy was gone. The sky deepened again to its usual blue, but didn't stop darkening. The sun dwindled to a pinprick, plunging the sky into a deep, dark navy. As the rage left Data it was replaced by a sudden, all-consuming exhaustion. He felt weak and insubstantial, as though he were made of tissue paper.

He dropped the metal bar. It made no clatter as it hit the ground. There was no sound to be made any more.

The ground shifted, and folded up to meet him.

'I don't care,' said the faraway voice. 'If I don't do it now we'll lose them both.'

And then there was Nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

4 - The Report

-x-

He opened his eyes. The sunshine was back. The fatigue was still there, but he had to admit to himself, he felt much, much better than he had. A warm, soft thumb brushed over his cheek.

'Wakey wakey, eggs and bac-ey.'

He squinted as the familiar vision of blonde and blue came into focus. 'Mary?'

She smiled softly in concern. 'Hi.'

He rubbed his head. 'What happened?'

'Everybody's kinda hoping you might be able to shed some light on that, actually,' the policewoman admitted. 'Some witnesses saw you guys running, then having an argument with a large Afro-American…'

'The Big Guy,' Data breathed. 'We were mugged…'

Mary nodded. 'Figured as such.' She paused. 'Did the mugger hit Geordi over the head? With that railing, maybe?'

'The railing?'

'He left a fuck-off steel railing at the scene. It must have been terrifying.'

Data shook his head. 'No. That was me. I picked that up to try to warn him off.'

Mary shot him a fondly mocking grin. 'Data, you have trouble lifting _me_ up. That thing weighed about a tonne and was ripped out of the ground. You're not Superman. Superman doesn't faint when somebody tries to mug him, for starters.'

'I fainted?'

Mary nodded. 'Hate to break it to you, Stud. The Paramedics found you both hunched up on the ground in very manly fashions.'

Data blinked around himself to try to acquaint himself with his surroundings. He was in a bright Hospital room – sterile and anonymous. The only possessions of his were a few clothes that he had left at Mary's the previous week – his girlfriend must have thought to bring him something fresh to wear. He had obviously not been in the room for very long. Besides Mary's face, the only cheery thing in the room was a TV on a high wall bracket, blaring adverts.

'Geordi,' Data muttered. 'How's Geordi? What did you say about that guy hitting him?'

'He's in a bad way,' Mary admitted. 'A very bad way. They think he might have had a brain haemorrhage or a clot or something.'

Data got to his feet, suddenly. 'Oh my God. Where is he? Is he here? Is he…'

'I don't know,' Mary replied apologetically. 'They just wheeled him straight into A&E, or Intensive Care, or… I don't know.'

Data took a stumbling step forward. 'Then we need to ask someone.'

Mary blocked him from leaving the room with her arm. 'Your People Skills leave enough to be desired even when you haven't just come round from a dead faint.'

'Mary, I have to know if he's OK!'

'Fine,' nodded Mary. 'Fine. I'll go and ask, all right? You just stay put, recuperate. You're in no fit state to run around accosting nurses.'

Data drew half a breath to make a retort, but thought better of it and sat down on the hospital bed, glumly.

'I'll be back in a minute,' Mary assured as she left the room. She shut the door behind her, leaving him alone with the weather report on the television.

He rubbed his eyes in frustration. 'Stupid. Stupid. Why didn't you just go to the damn doctor like I said, huh…?'

He broke off with a sigh, allowing the TV to do all the talking.

'…stable for now,' the weather presenter told him, 'but that certainly won't last long.'

Data frowned. There was something very familiar about the female meteorologist's voice.

'We can't afford to let him crash like that again,' added the presenter. 'A second power boost might keep his systems ticking over, but it would definitely kill Geordi.'

Data's head snapped up to the small set, bolted high up on the wall. The Redheaded presenter looked out at the world with an expression of quiet concern, and stood before not a weather map but the outlines of two male figures. She pointed at the head of the smaller outline with a baton.

'The surge has completely flooded his brain,' the weather presenter continued, 'it's a miracle he's still alive as it is. The longer he stays attached to Data and his programme the greater the chance of permanent brain damage, or death.'

Data stood up, and took a step closer to the TV set. 'What the Hell is going on…?'

'Do you think we should try pulling Geordi out again?' asked a male voice, from out of shot on the TV.

The woman shook her head. 'Judging by the convulsions he went into when we tried to manually remove him from the programme the first time, he'd never survive.'

'His epilepsy…' murmured Data, pulling a chair beneath the set. 'That fit he threw…'

The image on screen changed to incorporate a larger news studio. The woman in front of the charts was now to the far left of a large desk, at which sat two news anchors – a tall, bearded man and a petite brunette. The man – evidently the one who had asked about "pulling Geordi out" turned from the 'weather' reporter to shoot a concerned glance at his counterpart at the desk.

'It's possible we could still be able to persuade Geordi to exit of his own volition,' the brunette suggested, 'if we were able to get him alone, and soon.'

Data stood on the chair in order to get a closer look at the screen. 'What _is_ this?'

'Use the Holodeck again?' asked the man. 'It's risky. Really risky. You saw what just happened…'

'You will not be able to reach Geordi alone,' came a further voice.

Data nearly fell off the chair. It was the Big Guy! The camera cut to him, still in his bloodied sweater, the hood pulled well over his brow, at the green where he had accosted them as though he were some sort of location correspondent.

'It is not LaForge who is the problem,' continued the Big Guy. 'It is Data.'

'Worf's right,' sighed the dark female anchor from off screen. 'The programme's allowing Geordi to enjoy natural sight and a greatly increased sexual confidence, but he's still essentially the same Geordi. Data's created a whole different persona for himself as a human.'

'This personality is cowardly and self concerned,' added the Big Guy.

Data slapped the screen. 'Son of a bitch!'

'Angry,' the mugger continued, 'vicious, conceited, lascivious… and very foul mouthed.'

The screen cut back to the anchors again. The man had a sly smirk playing beneath his beard. 'He always was fascinated by the flaws of human nature.'

'It saddens me that he should make himself that way,' said the woman, softly. 'That he seems to think that's the sort of human he'd be.'

'Perhaps he just wanted to experience negative human attributes. He gave himself plenty of good qualities too,' the man reminded her. 'This girlfriend, for instance,' he added, with a sudden sad tone.

'Mary?' Data breathed, his face almost pressed against the screen. 'What about Mary?'

'Did you see who she was?' continued the man.

'What are you trying to tell me?' insisted Data. 'Is Mary in trouble?'

The woman nodded, with the same expression of pitying sorrow. 'I'm going to have my work cut out for me when we get them out… _if_ we get them out.'

'We'll get them out,' the man assured her. 'There has to be a part of Data that's still our Data. There has to be a part of him that can understand the situation, that will listen to reason…'

'What do you mean, "your Data"?' snapped Data. 'I'm perfectly reasoned. I'm a scientist, for God's sake…' He checked himself. 'A scientist who's standing on a chair, talking to a hallucination inside the TV.' He stepped backwards off the chair. 'Good God, I'm going mad.'

'I believe the old, pragmatic Data is still there somewhere,' the woman said, gazing into the camera. 'Buried underneath all these new human attributes that he simply isn't used to, and can't control. He might even be trying to get himself to end the programme as much as we are…'

'But it's obviously not working,' added the man.

Data sat back down on the bed, rubbing his temples. 'I've been working too hard,' he told himself. 'And what with the sleeping problems, and worrying over Geordi, and passing out… This is all just a… a stress related Episode.'

'I believe that there are some aspects of the programme that are starting to go against him,' continued the woman – not just looking straight into the camera but staring directly at him. 'To show him glimpses of reality, to bring him to the surface the way I sensed him doing earlier – but Data's human personality is fighting against it - reacting to those flashes of our world with either rage or denial.'

Data turned his head away from the set. 'It's all just nonsense. It's not real. It's not real. This is just your phobia of technology manifesting itself…'

'So he won't listen to us, or to himself,' concluded the man, 'we can't stop the programme via the Holodeck computer since he managed to commandeer the controls over it from within the programme, we can't get to Geordi on his own via the Holodeck or pull him out manually and we certainly can't leave them in it any longer. The way I see it that only gives us one option to try.'

Data dared to glance up at the set again, only to see both news anchors staring intently at him.

'Pull the plug on Data.'

'We're not just talking about a simple disconnection here like it was on Geordi,' warned the Weather presenter, off screen. The camera veered giddily to show the woman at her charts again. 'The programme is running _through_ Data. It's a part of him. It would be very involved…'

'Not to mention the shock,' added the other woman. 'we all saw what being ripped from the programme did to Geordi, and apart from suddenly being unable to see there was very little physical change in him from the person he believed himself to be in the programme. The wrench for Data would be… I can't fathom.'

'That's the worst case scenario,' the Weather forecaster told the other woman. 'He may well just open his eyes and be Data again. I mean, physically he's made of much sterner stuff than the rest of us… it's not as if he can suffer a heart attack… and emotionally, well…' the Redhead trailed off with a shrug.

'He _may_ just wake up back to normal again,' argued the Brunette, 'maybe he won't. What if the human personality has become permanent? Can you imagine the distress of an early 21st Century Terran man suddenly finding himself here? In Data's body?'

'This is madness.' Data closed his eyes, hard. 'Just concentrate, and it'll all go away.'

'Nevertheless' said a new, but all too recognisable voice, 'I have to agree with Doctor Crusher.'

Data tensed automatically at the sound of it. 'Picard.'

He looked up at the set again and there he was, sat comfortably in a large chair – the kind that Breakfast TV Shows tended to use for celebrity interviews. Data found himself filling with an automatic fury at the sight of the Frenchman.

'We have no time,' continued Picard from his armchair, 'LaForge's life is in the balance.'

'What have you done to him?' spat Data at the screen.

'Doctor,' added Picard, oblivious to Data, 'when's the soonest you can safely commence?'

'I might have known you'd be behind all this, you control freak,' Data continued, unheard. 'You must have… drugged us, or… had something implanted into us, or…' He clutched his temples. 'No. No, this isn't real. I'm having a panic attack or something, this is all in my head…'

The Red Haired Weather presenter was talking over him. '…safest bet is to wait until he's in a restive state…'

'Looks pretty restive right now,' interjected the bearded man.

The Brunette shook her head. 'He's all over the place. He's incredibly anxious.' She lowered her voice. 'I think he's listening to us again.'

'Counsellor,' added Picard to the darker woman, 'I want you to be present too. In case you are right.'

'Of course.' The brunette paused, uncomfortably. 'We should also take the precaution of restraining him to the best of our ability.'

'You…' the Weather Reporter faltered. 'You want us to bolt him to the table…?'

Data looked up at the screen again. 'This is nuts. I'm going completely mad, aren't I?'

'It's very unpleasant, I know,' replied the Brunette anchor, 'but it's the only way of ensuring he doesn't hurt himself when he comes round… or anybody else.'

'Very well,' added Picard, decisively. 'Doctor Crusher, let me know once you are ready to proceed.'

'There won't _be_ any procedure,' Data snapped. 'You're all in my head. Go away! Leave me alone…'

Picard turned suddenly to face the camera, fixing Data with a wide, blank grin. 'Thanks for that, Beverly,' he beamed. 'And now it's time to go over to Ashley for all the celebrity gossip.'

The camera cut to a nipped-and-tucked, permatanned Blonde, sat in front of a mocked-up Hollywood Sign.

'Thanks, J.L.' she smiled as well as the Botox would allow. 'Well, the word on everybody's lips this morning is…'

The screen fizzed and went black. Data looked down from the TV to see Mary's finger still on the off switch.

'What are you watching that trash for?'

He gaped at the Police officer. 'Mary. It happened again.'

'You passed out again?'

'No…' Data rubbed his head. 'Maybe. I don't know. The voices came back! Through the TV this time. I saw them. They were talking about… about me having all these different personalities, and being stuck in some computer programme and bolting me to a table, and pulling plugs on me and…'

Mary cocked an eyebrow. 'That settles it, Mister. No more Philip K Dick for you.'

'Mary.' Data grabbed Mary's arms. 'Picard was there. I saw him. It's a conspiracy!'

'I thought we agreed that these voices speaking to you through the machines were just your addled brain's way of telling you to take a few days off,' retorted Mary.

'And the Big Guy. The guy who attacked us. He was there too. It's all coming together…'

'Of course you saw the man who attacked you in your hallucination. This morning was a terrifying experience.' Mary pulled his hands off her arms. 'Now do you want to talk a lot of gibberish about the machines being out to get you, or do you want to hear about Geordi?'

Data frowned. How could he have forgotten about Geordi? 'How is he?'

'They don't know,' Mary explained. 'They can't find anything physically wrong with his brain on the CT Scan.'

Data sighed, relieved. 'That's a good thing, right?'

Mary shook her head. 'If they can't find the problem, how are they supposed to treat it?' She put her hand around his neck. 'He's in intensive care right now.'

'Can I see him?'

'Not at the moment. He's in and out of consciousness, and in a lot of pain, but he's… stable.'

'Stable,' echoed Data, recalling the words of the Weather Presenter, 'but not for long.'

'Right,' nodded Mary, sympathetically. 'They're worried that if they can't treat it soon, it might prove to be fatal.'

Data faltered. 'If there's anything I can do…'

'There isn't.' Mary squeezed his elbow. 'There's nothing you can do about it, Honey. Come home with me.'


	5. Chapter 5

5 - Rude Awakening

-x-

He was warm. Everything smelled of Mary – her sheets, her hair, nestled against his cheek as she curled her back against his side, her skin… she smelled of detergent, sunblock and shampoo. The faint smells of dinner and sex lingered over them both still. An open window in her bedroom allowed in the cool breezes and low sounds of night. He could hear traffic off in the distance, a single bird twittering too early for dawn, and the soft, regular breaths of the woman whose bed he shared.

And yet he couldn't sleep. Even in spite of the fatigue, he couldn't sleep. He found his thoughts flitting between worry for Geordi and concern over what he had seen and heard on the television. He couldn't keep himself from running the strange discussion over and over in his head… and every time he did he checked himself, and berated himself internally for concentrating on a stupid hallucination instead of his stricken friend.

_The Big Guy said I was self centred… maybe he's right… Oh for the love of… I'm doing it again!_

Mary grunted softly as he tossed and fretted next to her.

'Go to sleep.'

'Can't.' He chewed a thumbnail.

'Worried?'

'And frightened.'

Mary turned to face him. 'The hospital are going to ring just as soon as they've got any news on Geordi. It's out of our hands. The best thing you can do now is get some rest.'

_Rest…_

His mind poured over the things the TV people had said, about waiting until he was in a restive state to do… to do _something_ to him. Something that involved bolts. Whatever it was, it didn't sound like it was going to be a pleasant walk in the park. And even if that _was_ all just a horrible fantasy, and in reality no harm was going to come to him, if he fell asleep there would still be the dreams. He just knew that his subconscious was going to linger over the mugging and poor Geordi all night long. And there was always that other nightmare awaiting him – that vision so familiar now, since it haunted him night after night after night. The sight of Mary's lifeless body, and that feeling… that feeling… of nothingness. That was the worst thing about the dream – the thing he couldn't possibly ever tell Mary, or anybody. Every time he saw her die he didn't scream, didn't cry. There was no wailing and gnashing of teeth. In his dream, when he saw her lying there he only ever had one reaction – one single, shamefully, hatefully cold and distant reaction. In his dream, he would see her die, and he would think 'Oh'.

'Oh.' Not in shock, not in alarm. The same flat 'oh' he would think to himself if he found a pencil on the floor, or read about the passing of a vaguely acknowledged celebrity in the paper. That was the worst part. Yes, that was the worst.

He ran a hand up Mary's warm, curved spine. 'I'm frightened of losing you.'

She smiled that mocking smile of hers again. 'Hey. I'm not going anywhere. Not tonight, anyway.' She took his hand. 'Now go to sleep before I cosh you over the head.'

With that she turned her head away from him, slipping back into sleep. He kept a hold of her hand as he lay flat on his back, slowing his breaths. Her hand was comforting – being able to constantly feel that he had a physical grasp of her brought peace to his worrying, and after another few minutes he found himself nodding off.

He began to become aware, in his half-asleep state, of a strange smell… a clinical smell, but not of bleach or hospitals. It was plastic-y, and slightly metallic. For some reason, although the smell was very subtle it managed to entirely blot out the scents of Mary's bedroom.

And the traffic in the distance had gone. That sound had been replaced by voices – men and women… quiet at first, but growing in volume. Speaking gently yet urgently, and very fast. Using complicated jargon that he was sure he'd never heard before and shouldn't understand… and yet, somehow, he did. He still had Mary's hand. He squeezed it a little tighter.

There was a light in his face. He screwed up his eyelids, grumbling a complaint, and tried to turn.

'Data…?'

'He's stirring. We're almost there.'

He couldn't turn. He could barely move at all. Something heavy and very strong was pinning him down.

'It's OK, Data,' said Mary, at his side. 'I'm here.'

Only it wasn't Mary. The voice was coming from the woman whose hand he held, but it _wasn't Mary!_

He opened his eyes suddenly, staring down his arm to the woman still clasping his hand. It wasn't Mary. She was crouching next to him, not in a bed but on a hard table; not strong, sunny, mocking Mary, but a dark eyed, dark haired little woman, her heavily painted face set in an expression of concern and pity. The woman from the TV report!

'Everything's going to be all right, Data.' The woman watched his nonplussed expression. 'Do you remember, now? Do you remember who you are… _what_ you are…?'

Data didn't answer. He looked down from his hand to his arm. There was something wrong about it – very wrong. And it wasn't just that the arm in question was fastened to the table at the forearm, elbow and shoulder by riveted-down bars and mis-matching, hastily salvaged arches of a thick, hard metal. Something was wrong with his arm. It was… it was not his arm…

The woman looked up, desperately, at somebody over his shoulder.

'He's panicking. He's still stuck in the fabricated persona.' She looked back down at Data. 'Look at me, Data. Do you know who I am? Do you remember me?'

'Where is Mary?'

The woman shook her head. 'Mary is…' she paused, ever so briefly. 'Mary isn't here, Data. I'm sorry.'

He tried to move, tried to wrench his hand away from the intruder's, but his whole arm was held completely static. 'What have you done to her?'

'We haven't done anything to her. Please. Don't worry about Mary. I hope it'll become clear to you very soon.'

Unable to pull his hand away, Data increased his grip on the woman a little, causing her to wince in discomfort. 'Where is Mary?'

'There is no Mary McKinley, Data.'

It wasn't the woman who had spoken. In fact, the woman seemed momentarily incapacitated – she appeared to reel a little as he felt the automatic swell of anger on hearing Picard's voice again. He managed to crane his head up slightly and was able to see the top of the Frenchman's bald head, upside down as Picard loomed over him.

'Captain, no…' the woman at his side whispered. 'Not yet, he isn't ready…'

'You are behind all of this, are you not?' Data almost trailed off in bemusement at the odd way that his thoughts had verbalised themselves, but his fury and fear at the situation forced him to steamroller past it. 'Tell me what you have done with Mary. What have you done with _me_?'

Picard just looked over at the woman. 'Who is this?'

'It _is_ Data,' the woman insisted. 'We just need to give him time. The programme still isn't completely deactivated yet. He's disorientated, afraid and very angry.'

'Enculé!' Data spat.

Picard nodded at the woman, curtly. 'Yes, I gathered that.'

'We should have him completely disconnected in another two minutes,' added a third voice from down by his hips.

He blinked at Picard, then the woman, then tried to turn his head to see the third person.

'No!' With her free hand, the woman grabbed his hair, trying to keep him facing her. She looked over in the direction the other voice had come from, urgently. 'Cover that up! Cover it up, now!'

The tone in the woman's voice only made Data the more frantic to see what was further down his body. He jerked his head away from her. There was the momentary sensation of something coming away from his scalp, and then his head was free.

He looked. The third person – the Weather Presenter – hadn't quite managed to cover his exposed belly with a sheet.

Because 'exposed' was the only word for it.

Between the metal bars that constricted him he could see a good eight inch square of skin had been sliced off his torso and pinned back.

There was no blood.

There were no innards.

What there was in the place of gore was a million times worse. It should have made him throw up immediately, only all of a sudden he realised that he had no gag reflex.

'Do you remember?' asked the Red Haired Weather Presenter, with that same damn pitying expression, 'do you remember what you are?'

He couldn't look away. He couldn't look away from the flickering little lights and the circuit boards and the protruding wires. Because underneath all of the horror, all the rage, all the confusion - deep, deep down inside of him there was a little voice.

And the little voice said _Oh._

Oh? Was that all? Picard had turned him into a Goddam monster and done something terrible to Mary, and all he could think was OH?

'Data?' The dark woman's face was a picture of the distress that he felt he should, be rights, be feeling. She was clutching at the hand he still squeezed. 'Data, you're hurting me.'

Around him, monitors started to bleep and shriek.

'Should he be breathing like that?' asked Picard.

Data only vaguely noted he was indeed only breathing in very fast, shallow pants, like a terrified rabbit.

'Everything's racing,' noted the Weather Presenter with a growing worry, glancing at the monitors.

There was the new smell – the smell of burning plastic.

'He's shorting out all over the place.'

His hand tightened again. There was a wet 'crunch', and the dark woman howled in agony.

'Connect him back in!' Ordered Picard.

'I'm trying!'

Another monitor some distance away began to wail.

'Doctor,' cried a voice from beyond Data's sight, 'it's LaForge. He's going into Cardiac Arrest.'

'Connect him back…'

Everything went black.

Pain, on the side of his face. He opened his eyes just in time to see Mary slap him the second time. He was kneeling up in the bed – drenched in sweat and short of breath, but home.

Mary exhaled deeply, laying her hand on her chest. 'Jesus Christ, you scared the crap outta me.'

'What just happened…?'

'I've never seen you like that before, Sweetie.' Mary ran her hand through her hair. 'You were shaking… hyperventilating… yelling out in French…' She allowed a little smile to play on her lips. 'I was half expecting your head to start spinning round.'

Data did his best to control his breath, and scraped some of the cold sweat off his forehead. 'Bad dream. _Really_ bad dream.'

'No kidding. You were squeezing my hand fit to…' Mary was cut off by the sudden chirp of the phone on her bedside cabinet. With a concerned frown she picked up the chirruping device and brought it to her ear.

'Hello…? Yes, he's here. Do you…'

Data watched her intently as her face crumpled a little, then set itself again, resolutely.

'OK,' she told the caller. 'We'll be right over.' She hung up.

'The Hospital…?' asked Data.

Mary nodded. 'There's been a complication. Geordi… Geordi just had a heart attack.'


	6. Chapter 6

6 - Agitation

-x-

Geordi was alive. Just. He was a mess of tubes and wires, connecting him up to countless drips and machines. It only served to remind Data of his nightmare. He pulled out a chair for Mary, just in time to see her sit down in a chair she had readied without his assistance, so instead he used his redundant act of chivalry to award himself a seat. Mary reached out and took Geordi's tube covered hand. The young Black man's dark eyes settled on her, slowly.

'Data,' he croaked. 'You brought me a woman. How thoughtful.'

Data managed a smile. 'You know that's my box of candy, heart attack or no heart attack.'

Geordi shook his head, weakly. 'Didn't you even bring me a bunch of grapes?'

'Sorr-y!' Data paused, trying to push his train of thought onto more light-hearted tracks. 'Has Stella visited you at all?'

'No. Did you tell her I was here?'

'Ah.' Data frowned. 'No I haven't.'

'That'll probably be why. She's a smart kid, but I don't think she's psychic.' Geordi paused. 'She leave many answer phone messages?' He shot Mary a rough approximation of a cocky grin. 'She's been nearly 24 hours without me now, she must be climbing the walls.'

'I don't know,' Data admitted. 'I haven't been back to the apartment yet.'

'What?' Geordi tried to sit up, but had to make do instead with propping himself up very slightly on his elbows. 'Data, I had my keys in the wallet I handed over to that mugger. And my driver's licence. With our address on?'

'Your picture,' muttered Data to Mary, distractedly.

'The place has been empty all day and all night,' Geordi continued, 'he only had to walk in, casual as you please…'

'I had that picture of us at Vegas in my wallet,' Data added to Mary. 'He said… he said about seeing who you were…'

'He's probably ransacked the whole apartment by now!' Geordi paused, annoyed. 'Data are you even listening to me? If he _was_ just a thief then there's plenty of real expensive stuff he could have run off with. But if he really was from the Institute… God knows what he could have done.'

Mary got to her feet. 'You want me to go check it out?'

Data grabbed her hand. 'No.'

'Data…'

'It could be dangerous.'

'I'm a cop!'

'They were interested in you,' Data told her, earnestly. 'Those people…'

Mary rolled her eyes. 'Oh for fuck's sake!'

'They wanted to take you away from me. Do something to you. And now they've got your photo…'

Geordi frowned. 'What's he babbling about?'

'These Goddam dreams,' sighed Mary, exasperated. 'Dreams and hallucinations, that's all they are.'

Data stood up. '_I'll_ go.'

'Data,' warned Mary, 'seriously. I think you're starting to have trouble distinguishing between the real dangers here in the real world and those fake ones in your head.'

'It's my apartment, I'll check it out. You stay and look after Geordi. If it looks like any trouble, I can call the police.'

'I _am_ The Police!'

'You're getting hallucinations?' croaked Geordi through the mild Domestic. 'Cool! What are you seeing?'

'The people in the TV are out to get him,' Mary told the stricken man, conspiratorially. 'Not just him, all three of us!'

Geordi giggled slightly. 'Voices on the airwaves? Machines conspiring against you? Data, if you're gonna go nuts, do you have to do it in such a clichéd way?'

'Well,' Data told them both as he picked his jacket up from the back of his chair, 'I'm certainly glad that my temporary mental breakdown is bringing so much amusement to my best friend and my girlfriend. Geordi, do you want me to pick anything up for you while I'm home?'

'Toothbrush,' ordered Geordi, 'fresh underpants, Stella's number.' He paused. 'Do you want me to make you a tin foil hat for going out in? Just in case?'

Data turned to go. 'Oh Lord. My sides.'

'You haven't heard the best bit,' Mary added as Data shut the door of the private room behind him. 'He had a nightmare earlier, and I guess it turns out you, him _and_ Picard are all really from the future.'

Geordi frowned, a far-away look flitting over his features. 'Hmm?'

'And, get this,' continued Mary. 'According to this dream, Data's not even a real guy at all. He's a robot!'

'Artificial Life Form,' muttered Geordi, automatically. 'Don't call him a robot, it's demeaning.'

'Huh?' asked Mary.

'What?' replied Geordi, blankly.

Mary shook her head. 'Nothing. Nothing.'

-x-

It was completely light by the time Data let himself in to his apartment. Yellow sunshine beamed happily through the kitchen window but, as usual, the curtains of the large living room were shut, plunging most of his home into gloom. He switched on the lights. There didn't appear to have been anything taken – certainly, their computer, laptop and box full of work files were untouched. That was a relief. A quick cursory look around the apartment didn't show any signs of an earlier intrusion. He sighed, and walked over to open the curtains.

It was at the very moment that he turned his back on the living room that he heard the voice behind him.

'Hello, Data.'

He froze up for a second, taking a deep breath to summon up the courage to look over his shoulder.

Standing right in the middle of his living room, a genial smile on his face, was the bearded man from the TV report. He looked around himself.

'I do have to say, I like this apartment. It's… homey. Very warm. Very comfortable.'

Data turned to face the man, slowly. 'How did you get in here?'

'How do you think I got here?'

'You stole our keys.'

'Did you hear a key in the lock?' The man cocked his head. 'Do you really think that's how I came here?'

Data pondered this for a moment. 'No,' he admitted. 'No, this isn't really happening. This is all in my head.'

'You have no idea how true that statement is, Data.' The man folded his arms and wandered slowly over to a bookshelf. 'Only not in the way you think it is.'

Data kept his back pressed against the curtained window. 'So you admit you _are_ a figment of my imagination?'

'No.' The man inspected a CD rack.

'Then what is this?'

'This, Data, is a last ditch attempt to save your life. Oooh, Courtney Pine!' His eyes lit up as he pulled the album in question from the rack.

In spite of the potential peril of his situation, Data bit the inside of his lip in irritation. 'You know, for a so-called desperate life saving attempt, you're being pretty vague, wouldn't you say?'

The man turned back to him. 'I know, I know. But we've tried force, we've tried bluntness and that just hasn't worked. So this is our "softly-softly" approach.'

'How is breaking into my home and rummaging through my things "softly-softly", exactly?'

'Sorry.' The bearded man put the CD down on a sideboard. 'I'm just a little curious. Have been since you guys told me about this experiment in the first place.'

Data twisted up his face. 'Experiment?'

'See? There I go again. Confusing you. I'm not really the right person to be doing this, only Deanna's still in sickbay.' The man shook his head. 'You made a pretty spectacular mess of her hand, Data. It's going to take some fixing.'

'You're…' Data blinked, a little lost. 'Are you talking about the dream I had? That was just a dream. It was Mary's hand I was squeezing…'

'Data…' the man sat down on the sofa. 'What do you remember about that dream? About what you saw? About what you recognised? About how you felt… did you feel anything at all?'

Data stared at the man for a second, then snorted a laugh. 'OK. You win.'

'What?'

'It's official. I've flipped my lid. Just let me pick up my bedridden room mate's toothbrush and then I'll go get myself an industrial sized jar of Happy Pills and a straightjacket, all right?' He rubbed his face. 'I just don't have time right now for a conversation with an imaginary Courtney Pine fan about interior decorating and dream analysis, OK?'

The bearded man broke into a wide, enthusiastic grin. 'Data, that's wonderful!'

'What? What's wonderful?'

'You're being sarcastic. That's so clever. Do it again!'

'I can't believe this,' Data replied. 'You know, most of the time people's hallucinations jump out of walls and attack them, or speak great, unutterable truths about the very fabric of existence. Mine show up and start patronising me! This is pathetic.'

'Sarcasm,' listed the man proudly, 'irritation… gallows humour… contracting all over the place like it was second nature to you…' The man looked around himself. 'Tell me you have some way of recording all this. Please? Because this conversation is a Keeper.' He watched as Data suddenly pushed himself away from the window and hurried into the kitchen. 'Hey. Where are you going?'

Data tried slamming the door behind him, and taking his mind off the hallucination by busying himself with the task of making a coffee, but suddenly the bearded man was at his shoulder.

'Woah there,' muttered the man. 'It's been a while since I've made coffee myself, but should it really be that strong? No wonder you need so much sugar… and is that full fat cream…? Tell me you aren't going to actually drink that…' The man waved a hand in front of Data's face. 'I know you can still see and hear me.'

'I've decided that I can't,' replied Data, primly. 'I've decided I'm just going to ignore you until you go away.' He pointed to his face. 'Let me introduce you to my "I'm-Not-Listening" Face. This is the face you're going to have to get used to if you're planning on sticking around much longer. And if you don't want to become intimately acquainted with the "I'm-Not-Listening" song, I suggest you don't say another fucking word.'

The man beamed again. 'You're not just sarcastic,' he enthused, with considerable pride. 'Data, you're a _jerk_!'

'Ooooohhhhh! I am not listening, I am not listening…'

The man followed him back into the living room. 'I mean, where are you getting all of this from…?'

'I'm just not listening, la la, not listening…'

'I hope it's coming from you. I really do. I know that might sound perverse…'

'Tra la-la-la, not list'ning…'

'…but the thought that deep down under all your programming…'

'Tra la-la-la NOT LIST'NING…'

'…under all that eagerness and earnestness there's a little part of you that's paranoid and irritable; that sulks, craves unhealthy things, fights dirty and curses like a mercenary… it just feels Right to me. It sort of suits you.'

'Tra la-la-la not liiiiii-i-i-istening to you…'

'Of course, I'm very much in the minority with that opinion. The general consensus is that the programme's picked lots of different elements of human life on Earth from the Holodeck computer's files and Geordi's life experience, and twisted it into this projected personality to keep you inside, as a form of self preservation. Same reason we think it put you in the past – to disorient you, keep you an extra step away from reality.'

Data stopped singing and regarded the bearded man, sullenly.

'Look at you,' smiled the man. 'All tetchy. Fantastic.'

'Go fuck yourself.'

The intruder burst into a fit of hysterics. Data had to wait a good thirty seconds for the other man's joyful laughter to quieten down enough for him to be able to get another word in edgeways.

'Look, have you got something to say or are you just here to annoy me?'

The man wiped the tears from his eyes. 'Are you sure you're ready to hear it?'

'I'm ready for whatever it takes to make you go away.'

'Fine.' The man nodded. 'I'll tell it to you straight. But I'm under orders to high-tail it out of here the second you start getting too agitated, so you have to promise to stay calm.'

Data shrugged as he took a sip of coffee. 'Whatever you say, whatever you do, it doesn't affect me. You're not real.'

The man took a deep breath. 'The world you think you're living in – Los Angeles, Earth, turn of the 21st Century… it's not real. It was once, well over 300 years ago now. But what you and Geordi are living in is a simulation, run via a holographic device connected directly into your neural receptors.'

'The "programme" you guys keep talking about,' breezed Data with a phoney air of indifference.

'That's right. It was an experiment – you were looking into ways that you could directly swap moments of experience with somebody else. Like a Holodeck simulation, but a hundred times more real. Geordi's implants made him an ideal candidate to patch into the programme, and to be honest he's the only person who really trusted you enough to agree to such an intensive procedure, at such an untested stage.' The man paused, and smiled a little. 'As I understand it, you had decided on swapping two very simple moments that neither counterpart would be able to enjoy naturally. Geordi was going to watch a sunset over the Pacific Ocean, and you…' his grin widened. 'You were going to kiss a pretty girl, as a human would. Feel that glorious Rush.' His smile began to fade. 'It was only supposed to run for a couple of minutes. That was eight days ago. In reality, the both of you are completely catatonic. Thank Heavens, you thought beforehand to come up with a way of running it without physically connecting to the Holodeck, since of course we had to bring you both into sickbay, still all wired up together. Geordi has to be fed through a tube, you both need constant monitoring… We hoped initially that you'd be able to end it from inside, or it would wind down of its own accord, but that really doesn't look likely now...'

Data nodded. 'Slight problem with that. If we're both flat on our backs in comas, how the Hell are you sitting in our living room?'

'I told you,' replied the other man, 'the programme is being run in conjunction with the Holodeck computer. It took us a good long while, but we cracked it yesterday, got ourselves a little access into your imagination. We were able to create a hologram of what's happening inside the programme that we could monitor, including holograms of yourself and Geordi that we were able to interact with for a few minutes at a time…'

'…The Big Guy…' recalled Data.

'I take it you're referring to Worf,' replied the bearded man with a small laugh. 'Yes, he was quite taken aback at the level of resistance you put up. To be honest, we all were. You nearly killed yourself, all to protect the programme. We seem to be doing much better today, though, don't we?'

'You're telling me that when I fainted, and Geordi collapsed, that was… that was supposed to be some stupid computer programme protecting itself?'

'No, Data. That was you. The programme is being run… being powered by you. It's inside you…'

'Oh yes. How could I forget. Because I'm actually a fucking robot. Of course.'

The man frowned, pained, not at the curse word but at the one which came after it. 'Don't call yourself that word, Data. That's a coarse term for a basic object, which isn't what you are. It's very detrimental.'

'Oh, I apologise,' replied Data, wide eyed. 'I'm afraid I'm not terrifically up to speed with the subtleties of 24th Century Political Correctness.' He began to giggle. 'This is absurd.'

'Geordi's dying,' the bearded man announced, seriously. 'So are you, as a matter of fact, Geordi's just doing it faster.'

Data didn't reply.

'The programme wasn't designed to run this long. It drains a lot of power out of you and feeds too much back into Geordi's optical implants, which was fine for a couple of minutes, but over a week…? Neither of you are capable of taking that sort of punishment.' The man paused, taking another breath. 'Tell me, Data… have you been feeling overtired lately?'

'Well, you know I have, because you're in my brain.'

'Your body's having to run on only a fraction of the energy it's used to. The programme is sapping you dry. And when Worf tried to accost you it sent you into complete crash. You very nearly burned yourself out.'

'And yet,' retorted Data, 'here I am, alive and well.'

'Well,' sighed the man, 'there might have been some… intervention… there on our part.'

'Medical intervention. On a crashing machine. How sentimental, and yet how very sinister.'

'We…' the bearded man stalled. 'What's a term an early 21st Century man would understand…?' His eyes sparked with inspiration. 'We plugged you into the mains.'

'What?'

'Only for a second, to get you back on line. We can't chance that again. The programme could spread to the rest of the ship, or the sudden burst of energy could fry Geordi from the inside out. And if we switch you off… well, that'd switch Geordi off too, and he won't switch back on again.'

Data nodded slowly, a wave of recognition creeping over his features.

'Are you beginning to understand now?' asked the man, hopefully.

'Yes,' breathed Data. 'I understand. I understand that this is complete and utter bullshit.'

The man rubbed at his chin in exasperation.

'I'm worried about my friend, who's sick in hospital,' continued Data, 'so my brain tells me that it's me who's making him sick. I hate gadgets and gizmos with a passion, so my brain tells me I _am_ one… just some giant Goddam electrical device, bolted to a table somewhere…'

'…and you'd have Artificial Intelligence on your mind anyway, being a hardworking Cybernetics Technician,' filled in the man.

'Exactly!'

'Data, could I ask you a question?'

'Shoot.'

'You keep saying you hate computerised technology… you have a deep, abiding mistrust of machines in general…' the man leaned forwards. 'And yet you're some sort of eminent Cybernetics expert? How does that make a lick of sense?'

Data opened and closed his mouth a couple of times. 'I… I just am.'

'Doesn't it strike you as a little contradictory? Don't a lot of details about this life of yours fail to stand up to much scrutiny?'

A thought struck Data. 'My father was…'

'Yes,' nodded the man. 'I think you've definitely modelled a fair amount of yourself on him.'

'People do try to emulate their parents.'

'That's not what I meant,' retorted the man. 'And that's not the only thing that doesn't make sense. You've got this mantra that you've been working too hard, but when's the last time you actually did any work? What is it you're even working _on_?'

'I can't tell you that,' Data replied, automatically, 'it's Classified.'

'What does it matter if you tell me?' The man shrugged, cheerfully. 'I'm just a figment of your imagination, right?'

Data narrowed his eyes. 'I don't care. I'm still not telling you.'

'Then think it to yourself,' replied the man. 'Tell yourself what it is you're developing, in as much detail as you can.'

Data tried to think for a moment, but a sudden recollection urged him to swiftly change the subject.

'What about Mary?'

'Hmm?' asked the man absently, as though stalling for time.

'Where does Mary fit into all this? In my dream, she was just… just Gone. And yesterday you said something about seeing who she was.'

The man frowned. 'You heard that? You heard us talking?'

'Just tell me about Mary.'

'Data…' the man chewed his lip, sadly. 'Apart from you and Geordi, and the encounters you've had with Lieutenant Worf and myself, everything… _Everything_ in this world is fabricated. Including Mary.'

'No.' Data shook his head. 'No chance. You see, this is the main reason I know it's you who's imaginary and this place that's reality. Because Mary can't be fake. She can't just be some ideal woman I made up for myself eight days ago. We've been together for months. And she's not ideal – she can be annoying as Hell a lot of the time, and God help me, I love the crap out of her anyway. She snores. Her boots stink. She's got this favourite Sports Bra that's grey and stretched and disgusting. She nags. She doesn't listen. I know where every blemish is on that woman's body - every scar, every wrinkle, every stray hair. Mary McKinley is a real, live person.'

It was the bearded man's turn to have no reply to hand. He just looked at Data with that same worried, pitying gaze that the dark woman had in his nightmare.

'What?' snapped Data. 'Why is it that every time one of you people mention Mary you give me that Look?'

'What Look?'

'_That_ Look! Like I'm a six year old kid who just got mugged by a drunken street corner Santa.'

The bearded man managed to snort a very small laugh at the absurdly extended simile, but retained his sad Look throughout. 'I suppose because it's reminded us all of some things that are easier half-forgotten,' he replied, softly. 'It's so easy for us, back in our day to day lives, to forget how much she affected you… how much she affected all of us.'

'Who? Mary? So now you're telling me she _does_ exist.'

The bearded man squeezed his hands together, briefly. 'Mary McKinley is a very cruel trick that's been played on you, Data. A very vicious, underhanded trick that's exploiting everything that's admirable about you. It's not just like watching a kid get beat up, it's like watching that kid keep going back for more and more, until he's dead.'

Data just rolled his eyes.

'Mary isn't just an abstract fabrication,' continued the man. 'The programme has based her very, very closely - almost entirely – on a real woman, from the real world. A friend of ours. Of yours.' The man stalled a little, and cleared his throat. 'I don't know when or why, or for how long, I didn't like to pry, but you mentioned once that at some point you and she were… she was your… the two of you… You Know.' He cleared his throat again, meeting eyes once more with Data. 'She was killed. It was a shock for all of us, but we were all able to grieve for her, to take part in that healing process, and you couldn't do that...'

'Wow.' Data nodded, deadpan. 'This rabbit hole just gets deeper and deeper, doesn't it?'

'I never said it was going to be easy.'

Data took another sip of coffee. 'Can I ask you a question?'

'Go ahead.'

'According to you, I'm not really sitting in my comfortable living room, drinking a good cup of coffee. According to you I'm a robot, call me what you will, in a coma in the future, on the verge of death, as is my best friend. The woman I love is just a twisted, thrown back memory of some dead lady and I get my kicks from persuading people to help me risk my life plugging into some malevolent experimental computer programme just so that I can do something as everyday as peck a girl on the lips. Tell me – if that's reality, why the Hell would I want to go back to it?'

'Ah-HA!' The bearded man thrust out a pointed finger in Data's direction with an air of victory.

'No. No "Ah-Ha".'

'You just gave me a reason not to come back. In which case, you've accepted that there _is_ another life for you to return to.'

'I was just being…'

'You _know_ what I told you is true, you know deep down that all this is just fantasy…'

Data slammed the coffee cup down on a table. 'Jesus, Riker, it was a hypothetical fucking question, OK?'

The man froze, the victorious gleam in his eye doubling. 'I never told you my name, Data.'

Data blinked.

'You remember me,' goaded Riker, 'don't you? You know who I am.'

'You're…' Data frowned as his mind threw up a series of jumbled memories. 'You're from the Institute.'

'There is no Institute, Data.'

'All of you.' Data was starting to feel hot again. 'All the people in my dream, all the voices… you're all from the Institute. You all work for Picard.'

'Do you even know why just thinking about Picard and this "Institute" always makes you so angry? Do you have any memory of it?'

Data took a step towards Riker. 'This is more than just a hallucination, isn't it? You've done something to me and Geordi, to keep him in agony and to make me lose my mind.'

'Data…'

The heat began to prickle. 'You're controlling us. All you want is for us to leave our home here and go back to that Godforsaken place. Why can't you just leave us alone?'

Riker got to his feet. 'Data. Calm down.'

'No I will not calm down…'

Riker held his hands out in front of him, serenely. 'You want answers, right? I'm happy to give them to you, but first you really have to stop getting so upset.'

Data stopped, took a deep, shuddering breath, held it, and then blew it out in a long, controlled puff. The heat all around him stopped its itching and began to cool a little.

'My name is indeed William Riker. And I did used to work with both you and Geordi. I hope to do so again. Tell me…' Riker paused, tentatively. 'What's _your_ name?'

'What sort of a stupid question is that?'

'Just tell me what your name is. Please.'

'Dr Soong.'

'After your father.'

'Surnames do tend to run in the family, yes.'

'What about your first name?'

'You've been calling me by it all through this whole dumb conversation.'

Riker cocked his head. 'I thought Data was supposed to be a nickname.'

'It's just what everybody calls me. I like it. Is that all right with you?'

'That can't be your real forename, though. I mean, that would be a pretty nutty name for a kid.'

'Of course it isn't my real name.'

'Then what is?'

Data stalled, lost. He looked down at his feet. The uncomfortable heat had returned.

'Mickey?' Hazarded Riker. 'Robbie? Marvin? Hal? Rumpelstiltskin? Your first name really isn't the sort of thing somebody should be able to forget.'

Data's mind swam, searching for a forename but coming up blank. It was so hot. It was Picard's fault. It had to be. He was trying to drive him insane.

'Leave me alone,' was the only answer he was able to give. He snapped his head up to confront the interloper. 'Leave me a…'

But Riker was gone. His living room was empty. He pinched the bridge of his nose as the prickly heat dissipated yet again. He picked up the Jazz CD and put it back in its correct place. Then he went to check the answer phone and collect Geordi's things.


	7. Chapter 7

7 - Escape

-x-

His mind was a whirl of contradictions and confusions as he drove back to the hospital. Was it really all a conspiracy? Every time he had one of the visions he would become utterly convinced that there was a depth of reality behind them – that they must be images lodged in his mind by some nefarious scheme of his devious former employer, since they felt so very tangible, and so familiar at the time – and yet as soon as they let him be, the concept that they were anything but feverish delusions became unimaginable to him once more. Looking back on his 'conversation' in the apartment with hindsight, the whole thing just seemed utterly ridiculous.

He parked up and hurried towards the hospital building. What did it all mean? Did it mean that he was really going mad…?

Now, he decided, was not the time to dwell on such matters. His friend was seriously ill. He had to be there for Geordi first, make sure he was going to be all right.

And then…?

And then what?

The light seemed to flicker a little as he strode through a set of doors, into a small waiting room. For a moment he thought he caught a glimpse of a familiar face on the waiting room's mute television screen, out of the corner of his eye. He stared at the set for a moment, but on inspection none of the silent presenters were out of the ordinary. He gathered himself as well as he could and checked a map on the waiting room's wall for a reminder of Geordi's location. He turned right down a corridor and hurried on. Riker had said in the apartment that his visit was a 'last ditch attempt'. Since he had vanished suddenly, Data could only conclude that that attempt had been unsuccessful. Perhaps that meant the visions would be leaving him alone from now on. However, he recalled, the desperate attempt in question had apparently been to save his life. The general message from all of these hallucinations had been that his and Geordi's lives were somehow in the balance. What if they weren't from the Institute at all, but elements of his subconscious trying to warn him about something… something else? Or what if his nightmare images and Riker's tall tale were the real truth…? He snorted a small laugh. He might be going crazy, but he wasn't quite _that_ crazy yet.

He turned to climb a flight of stairs, and suddenly halted. There was a small landing the flight below, incorporating a vending machine, at which stood a man. Data's knuckles clenched tightly around the banister. Even half obscured by the stairwell, he'd recognise the top of that hooded head, and those giant, dark hands rifling through quarters anywhere. Holding his breath, he made a swift, quiet descent down the stairs to the flight below. The large Black man still seemed unawares when Data barrelled into him, slamming his forearm against the man's throat.

'What the…?' The hooded man dropped his change in alarm, gazing down at the skinny White stranger, who had to stand on tiptoe in order to pin him by the throat against the wall with a surprising degree of force.

Data blinked, staring into shocked, unfamiliar eyes. It was not the man who had mugged him. He backed away, apologetically.

'I'm sorry.'

'Son of a bitch!' The stranger clutched at his throat in pain. 'Crazy fuck!'

'I'm sorry,' repeated Data, turning to run back up the stairwell.

'You need help, Buddy! Seek assistance!'

'Tell me about it,' muttered Data under his breath. He swung round the banister and pushed open the door onto the upper floor.

There was no mistaking the face that greeted him in the doorway for anybody else.

It was Picard.

Data froze in the doorway, unsure of what to do. The Frenchman blocked his way – the only path between him, Geordi and Mary.

'Data,' greeted Picard, curtly.

Data said nothing.

Picard attempted a friendly smile. 'You look… flushed. And dishevelled. And very human. Enough to fool anybody.' He paused. 'Where's Geordi, Data?'

'What are you doing here?'

'I'm here to end this. I'm here to bring you back. Where's Geordi? Where have you hidden him?'

'Riker said this morning was the last time you'd try.'

'And who ever said it was only a single-pronged attempt?' Picard paused again as neither man budged. 'Ever heard of Good Cop Bad Cop?'

Still Data didn't stir. 'Let me guess. Riker was the Good Cop, and you…?'

Picard slowly moved a hand up to the opening of his jacket. 'I don't particularly want to be the Bad Cop, Data.' He pulled out an object just far enough from his jacket for Data to be able to see what it was. 'Believe me, I don't want to use this, but I will if I…'

Picard didn't get to finish his sentence. At the sight of the gun, Data threw the Frenchman sideways out of his way, breaking into a sudden sprint down the corridor, never once looking back to see just how far he'd managed to hurl the other man. All he heard was Picard announcing 'I'm all right' - to whom, he had no idea – before he cleared the corridor, slammed the door closed behind him and upended another vending machine against it to keep it shut.

-x-

Geordi and Mary were both dozing when he found them. His noisy, panicked entrance caused both to awake with startled snorts.

'What the Hell…?' Geordi rubbed his eyes as Data dragged a chair against the door. 'What's going on?'

'We're leaving,' Data announced.

'You're leaving?' Geordi propped himself up. 'So soon?'

'No, Geordi. _We're_ leaving. All three of us.'

'What?' asked Mary, bewildered.

Data hurried over to Geordi's bed. 'Mary, help me get all these tubes and stuff out of him. Quickly!'

Data tried to pull a monitor away from the other man's skin, but Geordi grabbed his hand.

'Data, I think I kinda need those to live.'

'Yeah, and you know what else you need to live?' Data asked him, frantically. 'A skull with no bullets in it. Unfortunately, that's the exact opposite of the Get Well Soon gift Picard is bringing you right this minute.'

'Picard's here?'

'Yeah, I just ran into him.'

Mary narrowed her eyes at him. 'Are you _sure_ you saw him?'

'As sure as I'm speaking to you now. Mary, he's got a gun. He showed me!'

'How did he smuggle a gun in here?'

'I didn't exactly have time to ask,' Data snapped. 'He's looking for Geordi. You have to believe me, please. We've got to get him out of here.'

'Data,' Geordi argued, 'I can't just leap to my feet do a comedy tap dance out of this place. I had a heart attack less than twelve hours ago – if you just disconnect me from these machines… I don't know what's going to happen.'

'I think…' Mary held up one of the monitor's unplugged power cables '…you might already be disconnected.'

Geordi gaped. 'What did you do that for?'

'I didn't,' Mary explained. 'It was just lying on the floor. None of these machines are plugged in.'

'But they're working! How are they still working if they're not getting any juice?' Geordi looked down at the tubes and wires coming out of his skin as though they were suddenly completely alien to him. 'Data, you're right. This is all wrong. We have to get out.' He pulled an IV Drip from his hand with a wince. 'How are we going to get past Picard?'

'There's a fire escape right outside your room,' Mary announced. 'I say we make a dash for it when the coast is clear, go round the back of the hospital to the car park, you guys can drop me off at the Station and I'll round up my boys to catch this creep while you get Geordi to the other hospital downtown.'

Geordi glanced at Data. 'How's that for an Insta-Matic Action Plan? Maybe I should get a Cop Girlfriend too – they're so handy.'

'You're a remarkable woman, Mary McKinley,' Data agreed, removing the last of the wires from Geordi's person. 'Let's have babies.'

Mary grabbed Geordi's arm and helped Data to lift him out of bed. 'What – now?'

'Why not? A whole nest of the little devils.'

'Sweetie, we've only known each other a few months.' Mary took a cautious glance out of the door's small glass panel. 'Nobody's about. Let's go.' She tried to move the chair out of the way. 'Jesus, that's heavy.'

Still supporting Geordi, Data nudged the chair from the doorway with the side of his foot. Mary was the first out of the room. Still checking the corridor, she leaned back against the fire door, holding it open for Data to carry Geordi outside. As she did so, alarm bells throughout the building began to loudly chime.

'OK then,' Data added as they hurried down the outside stairwell, 'why don't you move in?'

'You serious?' Mary asked genuinely.

'Apartment's big enough. And Geordi likes you too, don't you like Mary too, Geordi?'

'Sure, sure,' Geordi muttered. 'You saved my life. I am eternally grateful. But could we…'

'Yeah,' agreed Mary. 'Actually, that would be nice. We could do proper Coupley Things.' An idea struck her. 'We could get a cat!'

They came to the bottom of the stairs, and headed at speed around the back of the building towards the car park.

'A cat. I'd like that.'

'Do you think…' gasped Geordi through the pain and effort of speed-limping, even supported by the others, 'that we could save this Heartwarming Moment for a more convenient time?'

'Well, excuse me for trying to disperse the tension of a very stressful situation…'

They turned the corner into the car park, and found themselves face to face with a Frenchman and his handgun.

'Stop.'

They stopped.

'Shit!'

He'd found them. Just like that, he'd found them. There were no signs of physical exertion on Picard's features – only a strange sorrow. That Look. That Drunken Santa Mugging Look. He was standing only just out of reach, his gun pointed levelly at Data. There was no way of getting past him – not this time.

Picard flicked a brief glance in Mary's direction.

'I'd hoped you wouldn't be here,' he told the Policewoman. 'Although I suspected that you would. I suppose, however, this makes matters easier… in a way.'

'Let Mary go,' Data breathed. 'She's got nothing to do with this.'

'I'm afraid that she does, Data. You made sure of that.'

'What are you going to do?' Geordi asked, faintly. 'Why did you come here?

'I'm here to put an end to this,' Picard told him. 'I'm here to save your lives…'

'By shooting us?'

Data could see, out of the corner of his eye, that Mary had let go of Geordi's shoulder and taken a tiny sidestep away. He knew that he had to retain Picard's attention.

'You can't frighten us into going back, Picard. You're not the Boss of us any more.'

Picard raised his eyebrows. 'On the contrary, Data, I am very much still the Boss of both of you. And I'm afraid the decision of whether the two of you should stay here and rot in this false comfort or return to your lives has been taken from you, since I believe it is neither in your best interest nor Geordi's to do so.' He paused. 'This is a simulation…'

'Not this again…'

'…a programme linked directly into his brain and your neural net,' the Frenchman persevered. 'Similar to the vast, sprawling dreams experienced by coma victims, only much, much grander, Data, because your mind is capable housing so much more information. Capable of recreating a whole world, from hundreds of years ago – the smell of the grass, the heat of the sun. Capable of simulating human vision in your friend and an entire human personality in yourself. Capable of creating new characters, who seem so real, so very real… Characters that one could fall in love with.'

Picard paused again. Mary had got about two feet away from Geordi without the gunman appearing to notice. Another few inches and she'd be able to make a grab for the firearm. Data braced himself.

'Data, you've made this very difficult for me,' Picard sighed. 'And I want you to know that this is absolutely the last resort, and that I take no pleasure whatsoever in doing it. What's that old saying…? "This is going to hurt me as much as it hurts you".'

'What…?'

Picard took a step back, swinging his arm around, aiming straight at Mary.

'I'm so sorry,' he whispered.

He fired.

She fell.

And he knew she was dead. He knew she was dead, and a little voice inside of him said 'Oh'.

There was no wailing. No gnashing of teeth. He didn't even run to her. He had no idea why he didn't run to her. He just stood there, practically frozen, watching her. His only physical reaction was to drop Geordi.

'Oh God.' Geordi sank weakly down to his knees. 'Oh God. She's dead. I think she's dead.'

'She _is_ dead.' Picard turned the gun back towards Data, meeting his eyes sadly. 'She's been dead for a long time. I truly sympathise with you for wanting to bring her back, but you can't, Data. You just can't. Let it go. Let it all go.'

Data finally found his voice. 'You're insane,' he whispered.

'Data…' warned Geordi from the ground.

'You're insane,' Data repeated.

'Look at her, Data!' Picard ordered. 'You've been here before. You remember her dying. You remember her lying there, and there was nothing any of us could do.'

'He's right,' Geordi told him. 'This has all happened before. I think… I'm starting to remember…'

Data ignored his friend. 'You're insane. You killed her. You're insane!'

'I didn't kill her, Data. Try to remember…'

'You just shot her!' Data paused. 'I'm going to kill you. I'm going to physically kill you, with my bare hands, you Son of a...'

'Data, stop.' Geordi was still on the ground, concentrating on Mary's motionless body. 'He's showing us… this is all… this is all to show us…'

Data took a step towards Picard. 'What are you going to do to save yourself – shoot us? When you went to all this trouble to bring us back, alive? You may as well not have that gun.'

Picard took a wary step back from Data as he approached.

'There is absolutely nothing to keep me from tearing you limb from limb, is there?'

'Data, stop! He's right! He's telling us the truth!'

'Data,' advised Picard, calmly, 'it's over. Give it up.'

'You just killed the woman I love. How am I supposed to give that up? So if you do intend to shoot me…'

Data made a dash for the gun.

There was a deafening crack, and a hot, seering pain slammed into his chest. He was hit another two times before he finally fell backwards onto the tarmac. It took a second for the full weight of the agony in his upper torso to assert itself. That was when he screamed. For a very brief moment the sky seemed to brighten again and the prickly heat from before hit his face, but it diminished swiftly, like a spluttering motor failing to start.

Picard stood above him, slipping the smoking gun back into his jacket with a concerned expression. 'Does it hurt?' he asked, a little surprised.

'Of course it hurts, you fucking maniac,' Data told him through clenched teeth, 'Jesus Christ, you shot me!' He glanced down at his hands, clutching the wounds. Oh God, there was blood everywhere…

'Then why aren't you dead?' Picard asked him.

Next to him, on the ground, Geordi stared at him, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge a stuck memory. 'It's true. If you were human, if this were real, that would have killed you. But it isn't real, is it? We're not really here. And you're not really…' Geordi gasped, suddenly. 'Oh. Oh. It's dark…'

The world flickered, as though it were being watched through a TV hit by a burst of static. And when the car park reasserted itself, Geordi was gone.

Data blinked at the space where his friend had just been. 'Where did he go?'

'You know where.'

Just like that? He'd gone back to the Enterp… to the _Institute_… just in the blink of an eye? For some reason, that actually made sense to Data.

'He was sick,' he advised. 'He was dying.'

'We'll look after him, don't worry.'

'Can you… save him?'

Picard sat down next to Data. 'I believe I just did.'

Data coughed. 'Still going to kill you.'

Picard shrugged. 'We'll see how you feel in a while.'

'Why aren't you running?'

'There's nothing for me to run from.'

Data looked about himself. Picard was right. Four gunshots had rung out in the car park of a busy hospital, and they had set off a fire alarm some minutes before. The place should have been thrumming with people, the air full of sirens. But there was nothing. Just him, and Picard, and Mary's body.

'Oh God, Mary.' Still Data made no attempt to crawl over to his girlfriend's body, but sat slumped, watching her blood pool. 'Why am I not crying? What is the matter with me?'

'Nothing,' Picard replied. 'In fact, I think… you're getting better.' The Frenchman nodded at the bullet wounds in Data's chest. 'You know, you can stop that hurting if you concentrate.'

'Perhaps I want to feel the pain for once.'

'_For once_?' echoed Picard. 'Isn't that rather an odd thing for a man to say?'

As Data pondered this, the sun above them appeared to make another weak attempt to glow brighter, only to stall and return to its usual state.

'True,' Data replied after a moment. 'Not sure why I said that, actually. It doesn't make any sense.'

'Well, that depends on which way you're looking at it,' conceded Picard.

The sky appeared to dim a little. In spite of the fact that it should have been a sweltering Summer mid-morning, Data was starting to feel cold. He didn't shiver at all, he just… wasn't warm any more.

Picard looked up at the darkening sky. 'You're running out of power. You need to snap out of this, Data. There's nothing more I can do for you. You have to work this out by yourself.'

'Yes. Thank you.' Data clutched at the bullet wounds again. 'I think you've done enough. Just leave me alone.'

'Oh, come on, Data. Your best friend's gone, your girlfriend's dead, you're lying in agony on a slab of tarmac. What possible reason could you have for staying in here?'

Data thought. 'I want to live.'

'I know you do,' Picard sighed.

An odd, jarring memory came back to Data. On the beach, with Mary, only a few days previously. Strange thoughts that he had had that evening. He remembered them now. 'I wanted to live. I wanted to live a simple, contented, warm life, to Live instead of merely Being. Was that too much to ask?'

'In general?' asked Picard, 'certainly not, and mark my words; I, and all of your friends will continue to strive to help you achieve that wish. But of this programme? Yes. It was too much to demand of the programme. It was not designed for that.'

Data looked at Mary's motionless form again. The evening on the beach was still strong in his mind, but other, older memories began to dance in front of him too.

'I remember,' he told Picard softly, 'six months back. She took me to Sea World for my birthday… because, y'know – aquatic mammals. What's not to like? Anyway, on the way back we sort of got lost, accidentally-on-purpose, and we'd had a nice day, and it was my birthday and all, and so we ended up pulling over in some desolate spot to fool about like teenagers in the back seat of her car. And I just remember, it was…' he smiled, dreamily at the memory. 'It was just awful. Just awful. Most cramped, uncomfortable sex I ever had. And God, we looked ridiculous, two grown adults… and it was just so stupid and so un-sexy, she started laughing half way through… and she simply had the most wonderful laugh. So full of joy. And so I started laughing too, and we were both there in fits of giggles… and she smelled of suntan oil and new sweat, and she tasted of toffee popcorn… how could that not be real? How could none of this have ever happened?'

'Six months ago…' pondered the Frenchman. 'Why was she wearing suntan lotion?'

'It was a beautiful day. Height of summer. I remember, we…'

'It's summer now,' Picard noted. 'Six months ago it would have been midwinter.'

Data faltered. But it _had_ been six months since that date. And it _had_ been a sunny summer's day. Come to think of it, could he remember a time when it _hadn't_ been a sunny summer's day? Ever?

A little voice deep down inside of him said 'Oh'. It seemed louder than before.

More memories started to reel past his mind's eye. Happy, bright, warm memories. A sunshine filled life of simple pleasures began to flash before his eyes. It was always summer. The sky was always blue and the air was always warm.

'False,' the little voice told him. 'It is all false.'

'Data…?' Picard asked, watching him.

'The pain has stopped,' Data noted, with an oddly mild surprise. 'And I am no longer angry.'

Picard nodded down at Data's chest. 'You've stopped bleeding, too.'

The flashes of memory were growing faster and faster – so fast that Data was sure he wouldn't be able to keep up with them. And yet, he could.

'Am I dying?'

'Quite the opposite,' Picard told him, gently. 'You are coming back to life.'

The memories kept returning again and again to that evening on the beach eight days before, until that was all that Data could see – that moment of everyday wonder, that simple, un-noteworthy joy. The setting sun throwing glimmering pools of tangerine over the surface of the ocean, painting the bottom of every tiny, frothy cloud a pale blush pink. The hush of the breakers on the sand, the salty air, the light breeze. Mary's hands around his neck, her body pressed against his, their lips, their tongues, the smell of her, the taste of her saliva… an accelerated heartbeat, a shortening of breath, the giddy hit of racing electricity in his nerves and hormones in his veins… that glorious Rush.

'That is enough,' said the little voice. 'You have to return.'

But he had wanted more. He had ignored the voice. He had held Mary tightly against himself and said 'I never want this to end.'

And she had replied 'Then don't let it.'

'It is finished,' said the little voice. 'It is over.'

He opened his eyes to the Sickbay.

And he said; 'Oh'.


	8. Chapter 8

8 – Delete

-x-

There was a long silence. 13.57 seconds. Eventually, having weighed up his desire to find out about the Counsellor's wellbeing against possible social taboos connected with mentioning it, since he was the one who had inflicted the harm upon her, and realising that she wasn't about to provide that information unprompted, Data spoke.

'How is your hand?'

'It still aches a little when I use it,' Deanna told him without malice, 'but it will be fine.'

Data nodded. 'You have my sincere apologies for what happened.'

Deanna smiled a little. 'Why do I get the feeling that you've been saying that a lot recently?'

'I almost killed Geordi,' Data told her, with an air of disbelief, 'I threw the Captain against a wall and was very insulting towards him, I _bit_ Lieutenant Worf and I told Commander Riker to…' Data trailed off, unsure as to whether it was necessary to repeat the expletive.

'…to go fornicate with himself?' helped Deanna.

Data raised his eyebrows. 'He told you about that?'

'He's been telling everyone. He thought it was wonderful.'

'He found my behaviour amusing?'

Deanna shrugged. 'At least somebody did. That's something, right?' She paused. 'Data, this isn't why I wanted to talk with you. All you've spoken about since we were able to remove you from the programme has been your regret at the effect it had on others. I'd like to know a little something about the effect it had on _you_.'

Data shook his head slightly. 'The damage that I caused to you and all of those who tried to help me was real. My experience within the programme is immaterial. It did not actually happen.'

'But Data,' Deanna enthused, 'you got to experience your ultimate wish! For over a week you were living as a human…'

'I was not human. I was not on Earth. I was comatose…'

'When you woke up briefly,' Deanna interjected, 'you were still, mentally, the human character you'd created…'

'_I_ did not create him,' Data added over her, quietly. 'He was the programme's creation.'

'Data, he was you! Or at least elements of you, magnified, and when you woke up, I could feel your fear, and your anger. Those emotions was real, if nothing else.'

'With respect, Counsellor, I do not believe that the human character representing myself was "me" at all – rather, the combination of various factors extrapolated from the Holodeck computer's character creation banks, Geordi's memory and my own. I believe that that character was merely a sophisticated projection. Much as the illusion of emotions were.'

'Data, I know what I felt.'

'As do I.'

'So you _did_ feel emotions.'

'But I cannot. Therefore it stands to reason that the "emotions" I experienced were, in fact, something else.'

Deanna sighed and drummed the fingers of her good hand on her knee.

'All right then, what about more tangible elements of the experience – tactile sensations. Pain, when you were shot. You appeared to seek out certain sensual pleasures… the warmth of a summer's day, the kick of caffeine, the… sensations of sex…'

Deanna steeled herself. As much as she hated to admit it as a Counsellor, there were still a small number of individuals in her life with whom discussing sex just felt Wrong to her, and Data was definitely one of them. It was unfortunate that the android seemed to consider sex as just another function, and usually failed to euphamise on the subject, since she always felt rather disconcerted by his albeit very occasional, but disarmingly frank and clinical reminders that he was far from asexual. He had once caught her off guard by innocently and matter-of-factly using the word 'cunnilingus' in front of her, which had resulted in her spitting a mouthful of hot chocolate over his uniform in surprise. Still. His apparent enjoyment of a sexual relationship with "Mary" within the programme was a different matter, and one which needed to be discussed.

Data, however, seemed to disagree. 'More projections,' he replied, patiently. 'Second and third hand human experiences re-laid into my neural net. Nothing more.'

Deanna paused. 'Tell me about Mary.'

Data hesitated for the briefest moment. 'The programme was intended to supply me with a woman with whom I could share a kiss. I had presumed that this would be either a random character from the Holodeck computer's files, or a previous girlfriend of Geordi's, since it was his human experience that the programme was using. It did not cross my mind that the programme would instead take a former sexual partner of my own, although, with hindsight, that does make more sense…'

Data hesitated again. Deanna didn't prompt him to continue. Nobody had yet breathed the "T-Word" to him in conjunction with Mary McKinley. Now, _there_ was the one aspect of the android's sexuality that he was never candid about, and ever since unfortunate circumstances had brought the fact of that brief, surprising dalliance to light it felt exceedingly rude for anybody who knew about it to ever mention it, to him or anyone else.

'It made use of my own memory,' Data continued. 'The unique way that she kissed, and that she…'

Deanna could practically hear the gears turning as he shifted the subject slightly.

'The programme offered me wish fulfilment on many levels,' he told her, 'and I became too embroiled in its fantasy to decline. Mary McKinley was the embodiment of several wishes. I _do_ wish to enjoy sex physically. I also wish to be able to have a meaningful romantic relationship. And I do wish that I could somehow bring her back, as impossible as I am aware that that is.'

'Were you in love with her?' Deanna clocked Data's confused expression. 'With Mary,' she clarified, quickly.

'He was,' replied Data, just as hastily. 'The human persona was in love with Mary.'

'But that was you.'

'I have already told you. It was not I. How could it have been me? I cannot fall in love.'

Deanna laced her fingers around one knee, regarding him seriously. 'Could I offer an alternative theory about what happened last week?'

'Certainly.'

'What if your dismissal of what happened within the programme isn't because it _wasn't_ real, but because it was _too_ real?'

Data started shaking his head, but Deanna continued before he could reply.

'Perhaps it is that you were able to fulfil your dream to be human, and it was not as you expected it to be. You experienced aspects such as paranoia, fear, fury, self-indulgence, idleness and so on, and you were appalled, so you distanced yourself from this human – this Data Soong – as much as possible. You claim that he was a projection of the programme, an Other Being to yourself, and you concentrate solely on the negative actions that he made you perform – crushing my hand, insulting the Captain and so on.'

'I disagree…'

'Would you agree at least that you found Data Soong to be an ignoble character? Unpleasant, even?'

Data paused. 'He was a far from admirable personality.'

'I'd say that he was immensely admirable.' Deanna cocked an eyebrow. 'Hardly Starfleet material, but then he was dwelling in a far more barbaric age of man. Flaws like his are perfectly natural; overcoming them or using them to our advantage is just a part of life. He loved, and he cared, and he desperately wanted to protect the people who were close to him, in spite of the mounting odds against him. From what I saw and felt while the programme was running, I knew that there was a good soul under all of those complications. It was your soul.'

'This discussion has veered into the realm of Metaphysics…' attempted Data, but Deanna cut him off again.

'There's an old saying from Earth,' she continued, 'that if you desperately want to be different to what you are, that different being is trapped inside you. For example, if I had an aching desire to have Blonde hair, I would say there was a Blonde inside of me, wanting to come out. And you, Data, could say that there was a human inside of you. What if Data Soong was that human?'

'You are attempting to apply a homily to an unrelated event,' Data told her, patiently. 'I do not believe that it has any potency in this case.'

'What if you released that potential to be human within you,' insisted Deanna, 'and not only was it not what you had expected, but you also had to give it all up again? What if you really did experience emotions within the programme; and pain, and sex, and love, and now you have to get by without them again? Data Soong saw us as the enemy, perceived life with us to be this terrible, unnamed horror from which he had to escape at all costs. Perhaps because he knew, deep down, that he would have to eventually give up that dream of human life. What if there's still an element inside of you that is horrified by your true existence? What if that's why you're denying the reality of what you experienced within the programme – to try to silence that little voice, that human who wants it all back again?'

Data blinked, regarding Deanna blankly. 'That is an interesting theory, Counsellor.'

'But one to which you can't subscribe,' prompted Deanna.

'On the contrary, I believe that it has helped me to make an important decision. Although I doubt that it is an action that you intended to inspire, or indeed one of which you will approve.'

Counsellor Troi frowned. 'Data?'

'Ever since I was released from the programme,' Data explained, 'I have been considering on the courses of action I should take regarding the recollection of my experiences within it. It was my assumption at first that I could continue to treat it as though it had been a particularly engrossing Holodeck simulation and nothing more, but this discussion has brought me to the realisation that it probably was indeed much more than that.'

Deanna drew breath to speak, but it was Data's turn to cut her off this time.

'You wish for me to embrace the memory of the human character, to treat him as an extension of my own psyche, and to cherish the memories of my time inside the programme – the emotions, the sensations… Officer McKinley. You believe that I can make use of these recollections in my endeavours to become more human, am I correct?'

'Put very, very simply, I suppose…'

'I cannot do that, Counsellor. Instead, I have decided to wipe my experience of the programme from my memory logs.'

Deanna opened and closed her mouth a little in sad surprise. 'You're… deleting the memory?'

'I will recall that Geordi and I were attached to a programme which overran for eight days,' Data informed her, 'and I shall remember the harm that it caused me to do to my colleagues, but the details of the life it gave to me must be erased.'

'But why?'

'If my suggestion is correct, and it truly was simply an illusion, then nothing has been lost. However, if it is you who is correct… then I have already achieved my ultimate goal. And it was inadequate, temporary and false. Every new step I will ever take in achieving a state closer to humanity will be marred by the knowledge that I have already been there once before, and even if this is the closest I will ever come to a human life – even if I never make another advancement - then my "life" within the programme will have cheapened everything I have already strived for.'

'You're talking as if it was some tacky, flimsy pantomime…'

'It was. It was adrenaline, caffeine, heat and sex. Sex which prostituted the memory of Lieutenant Yar. That alone is cause enough to delete it. As for the concept that the human personality is an aspect of myself, still present somewhere within me… I am very uncomfortable with the idea of that. I should like to ensure that this is not the case to the best of my abilities, and I believe that erasing all memory of him is likely to be the best option.'

Deanna shook her head. 'Data, if I didn't know better, I'd say you've decided on this course of action out of spite.' She caught his eye. 'And out of grief, of course. I'd say that it's pained you to come back to this life, and to remember everything that you lost, and had to sacrifice – that you're erasing the memories because they hurt too much to contemplate. And if you can't have them… well, why should he? If I didn't know better, I'd say that you didn't want any memory of the human to exist because you're jealous of his life… the life _you_ gave him…'

Unbidden, Data got to his feet. 'My mind is made up.' He turned to go.

'You know something else I'd say if I didn't know better?' Deanna called to him, 'I'd say that this decision proves in itself that you and Data Soong are one. I'd say that the fear, anger and denial he showed when faced with the truth of his own existence is no different from your own reaction right now to the truth of what you went through!'

Data paused at the door, staring at her for a moment.

'It is fortunate then, Counsellor, you do "know better".'

With that, he left, leaving Counsellor Troi blinking at a door which seemed to slide shut after him a little sharper than usual.

She sighed, and logged the session, noting particularly that the android was almost certain to wipe his memory banks of the programme's effects upon him practically immediately, and as such, there would be no point in bringing the matter up again. That done, she moved on to her personal log.

_I believe that Data and I have just had an argument_, she wrote. _In fact, I think he actually stormed out of my office._ She smiled, slightly, before adding one last thought. _I'm so proud!_

-x-

'Hello.'

'Hi.'

Data sat down in the seat next to Geordi's. Data noted silently that it was the first time he'd ever caught the Chief of Engineering gazing absently out of a window before. But then, a lot of odd occurrences had been happening since The Incident. Oh yes, a lot of odd occurrences. Little of it made sense to Data any more, but a part of his programming – a part that he had very recently installed himself – held him back from delving any further into the mystery. It was to remain an enigma to him. That was the price he was going to have to pay for… for Something. For Something Important. More, he could not say.

'How are you?' he asked.

Geordi didn't turn to face him. 'Oh, fine. Fine. Gotta take really good care of my ticker for a while. Beverley wanted to replace it, but I said no way.'

'It is probably advisable after having gone into Cardiac Arrest at such a young age…'

'I know, I know, but the whole Bionic Implants thing is a road I'm already further down than I'd like to be. Y'know, a Visor here, a fake heart there, pretty soon I'd end up as mechanised as…' Geordi checked himself. 'Sorry.'

Data pressed his lips together a little, nonplussed. 'I assume that your reference was to myself. I take no offence at that.'

'I know, but…'

'Why did you apologise?'

Geordi shook his head. 'If I were to tell you that, I'd have to refer to what happened in the programme…'

'…which I have asked you not to do,' completed Data, with a nod of understanding.

'And it's killing me that we can't discuss it,' Geordi interjected. 'Not even a little bit…? Not even if I keep it as vague as vague can be…?'

'I went to great lengths to delete all memory of my experience within the programme,' Data replied. 'I must have had good reason. I believe that to provide me with any reminders of the memories I have striven to remove would be counter-productive.'

Geordi huffed a little, and went back to gazing out of the window.

Data decided that it would be a good idea to change the subject.

'I understand that you have finally scheduled a social engagement with Lieutenant Blackburn.'

'No secret dates are secret for long if they're made within earshot of Beverly Crusher, huh?'

'Actually, it was Commander Riker who informed me.'

'Exactly.'

Data frowned, slightly confused, but decided to continue with his original tack. 'You have been attempting to summon the courage to ask her for dinner for over a month now. Was there any particular catalyst for you finally making your decision?'

Geordi just gave Data a Look. Hampered as they were by the human's Visor and the android's general inability to read the expressions of others, Data still knew what that Look meant.

'The programme again…?' Data hazarded.

Geordi nodded.

'Oh.'

'See what I mean?' Geordi persisted.

'It may be more difficult than I had first anticipated for us to avoid discussing the programme,' Data agreed. 'However, the easiest option is not necessarily the most suitable.'

'Says you…' mumbled Geordi, almost inaudibly. He went back to looking out of the window.

Data opened his mouth to ask what he was doing, then closed it again, with the consideration that the blind man's blank observation of the stars through his Visor may have been yet another action inspired by the programme.

'I never knew before,' announced Geordi, suddenly, 'how much of what I see through this thing is blue.'

'Beg pardon?'

'I had no frame of reference. But there's blue everywhere. I like it. It's pretty.'

'It is a colour that humans usually react positively to.'

'Is it blue? The sky?'

'It is Nothingness. Most of what is outside the window is an absence of light and colour – observed by almost all species as blackness.'

'Oh.'

Data pointed at what to the average human would be nothing but a slight smudge in the darkness. 'That nebula.'

'Pretty far away.'

'I am able to see it. Are you?'

'Sure. What about it?'

'It is blue.'

'Really?'

'Mostly.'

'Cool.'

And they said nothing more, but sat and watched the mostly blue nebula that nobody else could see for the best part of an hour.

And then, they continued as normal.

-x-

The End.

-x-

_Notes and References_

_Huge thanks again to Realmlife for a great job Betaing._

_The song on the radio in Chapter 1, to which the title of the story and the first chapter refer, is 'I Can See Clearly Now' by Johnny Nash. Although there aren't any other music cues in the story, there are other songs that have inspired certain scenes or moods in it – 'Baby's Coming Back To Me' by Jarvis Cocker pretty much throughout the story and 'Downtown' by Tony Hatch, sung by Petula Clark, for the realisation that Data's human life is a lie._

_Mary McKinley's surname is after a friend of mine who, like myself, shares Mary's trait of letting people know she cares about them by taking the piss out of them at every conceivable opportunity. The Irish name for a Cop is a bit of a cliché I know, but it just felt right for her._

_The line '_I bet you guys spent all last night re-tiling the bathroom or something' _is a very, very obscure reference to 'The Ballad of Barry and Freda' AKA 'Let's Do It' by Victoria Wood._

'The ground shifted, and folded up to meet him' _is a reference to the termination of the Universe in Zarniwoop's office ('The sky's folding in on itself') in the second radio series of The Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy._

''Wakey wakey, eggs and bac-ey.'' _– Kill Bill Part 2!_

_The whole of Chapter 4 is a homage to Life On Mars, particularly the Overdose episode. Life On Mars was a very big influence on this whole story._

_Data's nightmares about Mary are actually recollections of the events of 'Skin Of Evil'._

'I was half expecting your head to start spinning round._' – because that whole scene before it had made me think a lot of The Exorcist!_

_Courtney Pine – the Jazz & Contemporary Tutor for my A-Level Music course was obsessed with Courtney Pine. My little tribute to him._

_After I managed to fit 'I think you ought to know I am feeling very depressed' into 'Harmonica', I really wanted to get another Marvin quote into this story. Unfortunately, I couldn't get one to fit. The best I managed were some passing references that Data was indeed being a Paranoid Android. Riker's 'Tetchy' line is a reference to Red Dwarf's Kryten ('It's a good job I can't hear you calling me tetchy, you know what happens when you call me tetchy…') Riker's list of possible forenames are all fictional Robots and Artificial Intelligences – Metal Mickey, Robbie the Robot, Marvin the Paranoid Android and Hal from 2001. Rounded off with 'Rumpelstiltskin', as a reference to that fairy tale's theme of random name guessing._

_In Chapter 7 I wanted to show the android Data occasionally slipping back to the surface as the artificial world collapsed. The first indications of this are actually in Chapter 3, when he is distracted by Worf. He's able to sprint without losing breath until Geordi points that discrepancy out, and able to pick up a heavy railing. I thought it would be interesting and add to the peril if Data's physical strength reasserted itself in this crisis before his personality did. This is why Data, even though he still believes himself to be human, and still gives himself some physical vulnerabilities as such, seems to have superhuman strength in a lot of this chapter. After he was shot and failed to die, I wanted a little of the old Data's syntax to creep in as well._

'You saved my life. I am eternally grateful._' – The Aliens in Toy Story!_

''We could get a cat!'_ – reference to Spot of course, and the cat Tasha had cared for as a girl. _

''…to go fornicate with himself?'_ – a reference to Blackadder II ('I'll just tell them to fornicate off'). Ever since I decided to have a meeting between the human Data and Riker, I wanted Data to say something incredibly rude to Riker, which would delight him no end._

_The side note about Deanna's reaction to discussing sex with Data is so gratuitous! It's got no purpose in the plot at all, and probably isn't quite in character, but I just couldn't resist it, since he's the sort of person who, were you his friend, would probably be very easy to forget that he had any sort of sex life. I got a mental image of her zoning out as he chatters away to her about something-or-other, only tuning back in when he uses a very clinical sexual term and being shocked. And I deliberately made how she'd come by the knowledge about him and Tasha vague because I couldn't decide how that had happened. Maybe the evidence that had come up in the hearing had been made accessible, maybe Picard or Riker, or even Data himself had confided it in her as a Counsellor after Measure of a Man, perhaps even Tasha confided in her as a friend or a Counsellor before she died. You decide!_

_Similarly, I can't decide who's in the right in that argument – maybe they're both a bit wrong, and a bit right. Deanna's probably got the higher ground, mind. I wasn't expecting Data to give her that little kiss-off line and flounce out in a huff, though – I was as surprised and delighted as she was!_

_Lieutenant Blackburn – this doesn't mean that the events of 'Harmonica' take place three months after the end of this story. In fact, I'd place this story somewhere around S4-6 of the show, since I don't think 'The Descent' has happened yet. I've decided to make Gladys Blackburn a bit of an in-joke, because I liked her name… whenever Geordi has an off-screen date, it may as well be with Gladys!_


End file.
